


Us

by BrandonStrayne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Aromantic, Asexual Character, Blow Jobs, Christmas, Christmas Presents, Clubbing, Coming Out, Community: ThePen15isMightier, Courtship, Dinosaurs, Epistolary, Eventual Smut, Excessive Drinking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Goblins, Grinding, Holidays, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Magic, Magical Animals, Masturbation, New Year's Eve, Pining, Pop Culture, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Friendship, Sexual Identity, Spells & Enchantments, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-09 20:31:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 64,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16456718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandonStrayne/pseuds/BrandonStrayne
Summary: A Christmas-adjacent tale about unrequited love, a magical take on a beloved Muggle tradition, and one very determined Potter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum/gifts).



> Written as part of the Pen15 is Mightier 2018 Fic/Art Gift Exchange.
> 
> I would like to give my sincere thanks to my betas [Drarryismymuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatchersn/pseuds/Drarryismymuse), [OllieMaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllieMaye/pseuds/OllieMaye), and [Nymphadorable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymphadorable) for reading through and fixing all my mistakes on this "short" fic that just kept getting longer. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> This fic was written for my dear friend, [Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_calm_and_expecto_patronum). Thank you for all you do for the Potterotica community. I feel blessed to be able to call you a pocket friend. I really hope that you enjoy this, all the little references I threw in with you in mind, and that I did your OTP justice!
> 
> If you would like to download an EPUB version of this that has all the correct formatting, [I have made it available via Dropbox](https://www.dropbox.com/s/83o08wao5d3uyqh/Us%20-%20BrandonStrayne.epub?dl=0). Because there is custom fonts and what-not, I can't guarantee the AO3 default download will work as expected.

Albus comes awake, spluttering, as an ice-cold blast of water washes over him. He coughs, wiping his eyes clear as he rolls over and suddenly he’s falling and before he knows it his body hits the ground. He curses out loud as his elbow slams into the wooden floor and a sharp, lancing pain shoots up his arm, followed by a burning numbness.

He pushes himself up onto his knees using his good arm, then reaches across his body and tries to massage feeling back into the dead limb. After what feels like forever, the frigid water eases and Albus looks around himself, trying to orient himself to his surroundings. He’s in his own living room, and for a moment his heart speeds with the fear that someone has broken in until he realizes that making him feel like a drowned rat would be a pretty odd choice of attack.

Albus turns his head and looks over the back of his Chesterfield and his stomach plummets—this is even worse than he had imagined. From his position on the floor, Albus looks up into the murderous stare of his girlfriend. For a moment he considers making a grab for his wand because his safety seems at risk, but when her wand, which is pointed dead centre at his forehead, twitches, he figures that making a sudden movement now would bring more danger than safety.

Greer Zabini stands towering over him; even if he wasn’t currently knocked down on his knees, Greer’s 6 feet tall and has always had a good couple of inches on him. Albus was unfortunate enough to have inherited his father’s diminutive stature rather than the lanky build that tends to run in the Weasley clan.

Despite the height difference between them, Albus has always loved Greer’s statuesque figure. Her height combined with the creamy, dark skin from her father, Blaise, and the sharply defined features inherited from her mother, Daphne Greengrass, has always caused people to stop and do a double-take at her beauty. He couldn’t believe his luck when, a year and a half ago, at the Malfoy family’s summer solstice celebration, she had strode right up to him and had asked if he would dance with her. He had barely managed to stammer out a flummoxed “yes”, which she had miraculously found charming, and they had been an item ever since. They had decided to take the plunge and move in together 6 months ago; a decision which he couldn’t help but regret just at this moment, as he found himself sodden, injured, and befuddled.

“What the fu—” Albus cuts himself off when red sparks start shooting out of the tip of Greer’s wand. He takes a deep breath and tries again in a more calm voice, “What was that for?”

“Aaarrrrgggghhhhhh!” Albus shrinks back as her screech of outrage assaults his ears. Now that the shock is dissipating, he’s becoming increasingly aware of the dull, thudding headache that makes it feel like his head is slowly being squeezed in a vice.

“—waited for you for over an hour!”

Albus realizes that his mind has wandered and he has no idea what Greer has been saying. He hopes that he can bluff his way through this because he’s very sure that asking her to repeat what she just said would be the absolute worst plan imaginable.

“Where the hell were you?” Greer’s hands have stopped gesticulating wildly in the air and now she’s standing with her arms crossed tightly over her chest and she’s staring daggers at him.

“I—” Albus’ voice comes out as a rough croak and he clears his throat, coughing for a moment, before he tries again, “I was out with Scorp. His dad managed to get some last-minute tickets for the Wimbourne Wasps match, and then Scorp and I went out for a pint or two afterwards.”

Albus can smell the fumes coming off of himself right now—to be honest, it was a few more than one or two.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Albus? You were at a fucking _Quidditch game_?!” Greer’s voice sounds so incredulous that Albus wonders whether he somehow misspoke...did he accidentally confess to moonlighting as a stripper or something? He will grant that he’s probably still a little drunk, but he doesn’t think he’s _that_ drunk that he’s running his mouth with long tales.

“Umm...no?” Albus ventures a guess that this is the answer she is looking for. Judging by the way that her eyes seem to bulge out of her head and she starts inhaling deeply through her nose, he surmises that he guessed wrong.

“You skipped out on my parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary for a Quidditch game and ‘a few pints’?” Greer’s voice has dropped in volume and quivers, threatening to break near the end of the rhetorical question. Albus can see that her brown eyes are becoming glassy, tears threatening to streak down her face. Greer _despises_ crying.

 _Oh. Fuck._ The wedding anniversary had totally slipped his mind. Greer has been planning and organizing the surprise party for weeks. It was to be a big to-do, held in the massive, ornate foyer of the Ministry. He can’t believe that he was such a wanker and forgot about it.

“I’m so sorry, Greer. I must have gotten the days mixed up in my head or something. You should’ve sent me a Patronus or something.” Albus rubs his face with his hands and pushes his dripping wet hair back from his forehead.

“I couldn’t very well send you a Patronus when I didn’t know where you were, now could I, Albus? What if you had been in a Muggle area? How would the Muggles take to seeing a gleaming, white bear come charging through them? Not great, I’d imagine,” Greer sneers.

Albus doesn’t really have an argument for that. She’s right. It would be far too risky to send a Patronus to someone if you didn’t know where they were and could potentially break the Statute of Secrecy. The DMLE would be willing to make allowances if it was an emergency and someone’s life was in danger, but he’s sure that they wouldn’t consider ‘my boyfriend is a total wanker’ as an emergency.

“Besides, I shouldn’t have had to,” the anger has drained from her voice and she just sounds disappointed and resigned. The burning ball of shame and guilt that has been steadily growing in Albus’ belly flares at how she just sounds so...broken.

“Greer, I—”

“Don’t, Albus. Just don’t.” Greer turns her back from him and he watches as she tries to covertly wipe away the tears in her eyes. He waits patiently while she composes herself, sensing that she has more to say to him. After long moments, she turns back and lowers herself slowly to perch on the edge of an armchair. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Greer, you can’t mean that!  I messed up, but we can get through this!” Albus pleas with her while Greer sits still, with the exception of her head, which is slowly swivelling from side to side.

“I don’t want to just ‘get through it’ anymore, Albus. I want to be someone’s first priority. I deserve to be someone’s first priority.”

“You _are_ my first priority!”

“No, I’m not,” she looks up at him and Albus watches as a collage of emotions seems to flicker across her features: anger, sadness, resolve and...pity? “I want you to leave. Pack up a few essentials that you can get by with for now, and then we’ll arrange a time for you to come pack up the rest of your things while I’m not here.”

“Greer…” Greer stands up and walks out of the room, not looking at Albus, with her head held high. He stares as she retreats down the hallway and disappears into their bedroom—her bedroom now, he supposes—and he hears the lock click faintly. Albus heaves a heavy sigh and then he pushes himself up off the floor and trudges over to the laundry. He pulls a few pairs of trousers, pants, socks, and some shirts out of the dryer and stuffs them into a plastic bag, not bothering to fold them. He drags himself around their modest apartment, in the Muggle neighbourhood of Marylebone, collecting the belongings that he thinks he can’t do without for the next few days: toiletries from the bathroom, a money pouch filled with wizarding coins and a leather wallet filled with Muggle money (a Christmas present from his dad last year). On impulse, he grabs the photo album filled with over two decades worth of memories and shrinks it down, sliding it into the pocket of his denims; he doesn’t think that Greer would be vindictive and destroy it, but he doesn’t want to risk it.

Eventually he can delay no longer and he makes his way to the door of their flat. He opens it and steps out into the hallway of the apartment building and takes one last look around the flat. Looking from side-to-side, he makes sure that there’s no one else in the hallway with him and then he surreptitiously removes his wand from its holster on his arm. He casts a charm and the puddles of water from his harsh wake-up call evaporate. At least Greer won’t need to clean up after that particular mess now. Replacing his wand, Albus heaves a sigh and then pulls the door closed with a soft click and locks it.

Albus wanders the streets of London under a murky, grey sky, contemplating what his next move should be. He could go and stay with either of his parents, of course, but he doesn't think he could handle that right now. His dad is newly single and dating again for the first time in over 20 years and he thinks that if he happened to walk in on him and one of his dates in a compromising situation that he might just liquify on the spot. He’s accepted that his dad is coming to the late-in-life realization that perhaps he’s not quite as ruler-straight as he had originally thought, and he is happy for him (he really is), but that still doesn’t mean that he’s ready to walk in on him _in flagrante delicto_ just yet. Or ever, really.

He trundles on, letting his feet lead him, taking another left at the street corner, as his mind continues to drift. He considers going home to stay with his mother in the family home, Whits End, but not only would it be highly inconvenient for him to attend his many meetings in Muggle London that he must attend as part of his job in the Department of Muggle Relations with the Ministry, he doesn’t know if he has the strength just now for his family’s in-your-face-and-all-up-in-your-business style of love and support. He just wants to go somewhere where he can lick his wounds and recover in peace.

Just as his conscious mind comes to the conclusion that there’s only one place that he wants to be in his fragile state right now, he looks around and takes in his surroundings and realizes that his subconscious had already come to the same conclusion. Without thinking, he has walked the familiar route that will take him to Scorpius’ apartment. With new resolve, Albus speeds down the street in the direction of Scorpius’ apartment, confident that his oldest and best friend would never turn him away in his hour of need.

A stooped, elderly woman is entering the apartment building just as Albus walks up to it, so he holds open the door for her so that she can pull her shopping trolley through more easily. “Thank you, young man. It’s so nice to see a young person with such wonderful manners, nowadays.”

Albus nods his head and replies with a simple, “Thank you, Ma’am.”

The old lady chuckles, “I wonder if I’ll ever reach an age where being called ‘Ma’am’ feels like it fits me.”

Albus isn’t quite sure what to say in this situation, so he settles for, “My apologies, Ma—Miss?”

The old lady lets out a gleeful cackle and he can see the crow’s feet on the side of her eyes that suggest she’s lived a life full of such outbursts of glee and can’t help but smile at her. “Nothing makes an old lady feel young again like teasing the young about being old. Do you live here then?”

“No Miss,” Albus gives the woman a wide, beaming grin. “I’m here to visit with a friend of mine. Scorpius Malfoy? He lives in 5G?”

“Oh yes, I know him,” the two of them make their way over to the single lift that serves the building and they wait for it together. “Tall, nervous boy. White-blonde hair. Cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink when he’s uncomfortable.”

Albus laughs, “That’s him alright. Hopefully you’re not too hard on him. He’s my dearest friend.”

The lift dings and the doors slide open and the two of them step inside. Albus hits the button for the fifth floor and, on her request, for the third as well. The doors slide shut and they ascend before she picks up the thread of their conversation, “He’s a sweet boy, that one. I’m sure that someday he will make some man very happy.”

The doors are sliding open and the woman’s exiting the lift when what she says finally dawns on Albus. “Oh, he’s not gay! He’s got a girlfriend, actually.”

The lady turns back to him and gives him a shrewd, assessing look and, for some reason, he feels uncomfortable. “Sure he does,” the lady states flatly and then she’s burst out into another round of raucous laughter, the sound of which slowly dissolves as the doors slide shut and the lift continues ascending once more.

 _Poor woman must be a few puffskeins short of a poffle_ , Albus thinks to himself.

Albus gets out on the 5th floor and makes his way down the hallway to the door of 5G. Standing on the doorstep, he already feels a little better, like just the proximity to Scorp can ease his worries. He reaches up and knocks on the door and waits. It’s at least a minute before he hears the click of the lock disengage and then the door is pulled open wide and Scorpius is standing there.

Scorp’s normally neatly combed hair is in a chaotic disarray, having obviously just rolled out of bed. If the hair wasn’t a dead giveaway, the silk green pyjamas would be. Albus likes to rib Scorpius about his posh sleeping attire, which were a gift from Draco two birthdays ago, but secretly he wishes he had a pair of his own. They always look so soft and comfortable and Albus has had to stop himself from reaching out and rubbing his hand on the luxurious material on more than one occasion in the past.

“Mate, is it raining outside or something? You’re drenched.” Scorpius turns around and takes a look out of his living room window and then turns back to Albus, his brows wrinkled together in a look of confusion, having noticed that it is a crisp day in early November and most definitely is not raining.

“No, it’s...well, it’s a long story,” Albus sighs. “Do you think I could crash here for a while?”

Scorpius’ eyebrows shoot up in surprise at Albus’s request, but he quickly scrambles aside, making room for Albus to enter the apartment, and then shutting the door behind them. He removes his wand, which he had tucked along his hip in the elastic waistband of his pyjama bottoms, and locks the door once more. Turning around, he points the wand at Albus and then a warm zephyr of air is swirling around him as his hair and clothes are dried. Albus takes a moment to be grateful that he hadn’t realized until just this moment—now that he is dry and warm once again—how cold he had gotten.

“So what happened? Did you and Greer have a row?” Scorpius places his hand on Albus’ back, between his shoulder blades, and leads him over to the chocolate-brown, leather chesterfield, where he collapses down into the supple material. Scorp sits down beside him, turned to face him, with one leg crossed underneath him, and leans back against the back of the sofa, head resting on his fist. Albus can feel his piercing gaze, grey with flecks of green that seem to change colour depending on the lighting, intent on him and he sighs.

“A bit more than a row. Greer’s dumped me.” Albus turns his head, resting against the backrest of the Chesterfield, to look at Scorpius. Scorpius is schooling his expression, not betraying any particular emotion at Albus’ news.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that, Mate.” Scorpius clears his throat and then looks away from Albus. Albus watches as his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. Scorpius has started tapping his fingers against his outstretched leg: _index, middle, ring, pinkie...index, middle, ring, pinkie_.

“Look, if it’s too inconvenient, I can go stay somewhere else...with my mum or dad or something?” Albus says. He’s not sure why Scorpius is acting quite so nervous. He didn’t think this would be a big deal, really, but Scorp seems agitated, and he doesn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable.

“NO!” Scorpius and Albus meet each other’s gaze and then they’re both laughing at the outburst. Smiling, Scorp continues at a more moderate volume, “No, I want you to stay. For as long as you need.”

Albus nods and gives Scorp a grateful smile. The day that he met Scorpius on the train on their first day as Hogwarts students was the luckiest day of his life. He can’t imagine what he would do if he didn’t have Scorp in his life.

“Sooo...what happened, then?” Scorpius asks tentatively.

Albus sighs, “Turns out I’m a total crap boyfriend.” Scorp looks like he’s about to interrupt and refute him, but Albus cuts him off, “No, really. While you and I were at the Wasps game last night, she was waiting for me to show up to her parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary party.”

“Oh. Shit. That was last night?”

“Yup. Not surprising, really, that she was still miffed this morning and woke me up with a cold shower on the sofa.”

“I’m sure she’ll get over it eventually and forgive you,” Scorp tries to reassure him.

“Naw, I don’t think so. Not this time, Scorp. It’s not like that time where you and I went to that wizard rock concert and invited the band and all of their entourage back to mine for a rager. It’s over between us.”

“I’m so sorry, Alb.” Scorpius reaches out and rubs Albus’ arm in a reassuring gesture. “I guess we're in the darkest timeline?” Scorpius jokes.

“Ha! Nowhere near that bad, thank Merlin! But you know what’s weird?” Scorpius shakes his head and Albus continues, “I’m not that sad. We were together for a year and a half...shouldn’t I feel...I don’t know...gutted or something?”

Albus turns back to Scorpius and waits to hear what his opinion is. Scorpius always seems to have a way to make Albus consider things from a different perspective, and he needs that skill right now. Scorpius sits in contemplation for a while, thinking, then he opens his mouth to speak before seeming to think better of it and closing it once again. Albus can practically see him trying to work out how to state his thought without hurting Albus’ feelings.

“Just spit it out, Scorp.” Albus rolls his eyes.

“Weeeellllll...maybe—deep down—you knew that Greer wasn’t right for you, so that part of yourself is just feeling...relieved?”

Albus thinks about this theory of Scorp’s. Surely he wouldn’t have moved in with Greer if he didn’t think they were meant to stay together...would he? Though, now that he comes to think of it, it was Greer that had pushed for them to move in together. She was the one that found the flat, picked out all of the furnishings, and made all of the arrangements. Maybe he was just...putting off the inevitable—avoiding a confrontation.

Albus is pulled out of his thoughts by Scorpius, “Or maybe you’re just total crap at being a boyfriend.” Scorpius gives Albus a friendly punch to the shoulder and Albus can’t help but chuckle. Thank Merlin for Scorpius!


	2. Chapter 2

 

Albus ducks his head under the hot spray of water falling from the rain shower head and revels in the feeling of the hot water washing down his neck and over his shoulders. He’s been staying with Scorpius for just over three weeks now and he thinks he might be in love with this shower. Draco had not been thrilled when Scorpius had insisted that he wanted to move out of Malfoy Manor and into London, but once he realized that there was no talking Scorpius out of his plans, he had proceeded to ensure that Scorpius would have all the conveniences and luxuries that the expansive Malfoy vaults could provide. And this shower may just be Albus’ favourite.

He turns a knob on the wall of the shower and sighs in satisfaction as six jets of water start spraying up and down his body. He rotates slowly, letting the jets wash over every inch of his body. An invigorating peppermint smell permeates the entire cubicle from the diffuser and it’s such a comforting scent that reminds Albus of Scorpius; now he knows why Scorp always smells like Christmas. Albus stops in his rotation with his back to the line of jets, letting it run down his spine and between his cheeks, enjoying the faint tickling sensation.

He reaches back and spreads his arse cheeks, letting the stream run down his crack and over his hole. Albus stands there a moment, letting the pleasing sensation build up his anticipation, his cock slowly filling with excitement. He releases one cheek and slides his hand down, pushing his fingertip along the wet skin of his crack until he reaches the wrinkled skin of his hole. He circles his finger around the sensitive skin, his cock hardening more at the sparks of arousal that he’s setting off.

Removing his hands, he turns off the body jets and steps out from under the rain shower. He collects some body gel from the built-in dispenser and lathers it up in his hands. He returns his left hand back to his arse to circle his grasping arsehole and reaches down with his right hand, encircling his cock in his sudsy grip.

He starts slow, giving his cock smooth, precise strokes, alternating between using his full fist and releasing his grip so that only his thumb and forefinger are encircling the thick shaft. He strokes the sensitive frenulum area and his cock gives a kick at the feeling. Albus increases the pressure of his finger on his tight arse, just this side of breaching himself, as he takes his shaft fully in hand once more and speeds up his strokes. He stays like that for a moment, balancing on the teeter-edge of penetration, until he feels his orgasm boiling up from the base of his spine and with one final push, his finger slides home, his tight entrance giving way. Two more strokes and Albus is coming, his load spraying over the tiled side of the shower, and his leg muscles are quivering with the effort of holding himself up.

Spent, Albus retracts his finger and leans back against the shower wall, recovering his breath, allowing the peppermint aroma to reinvigorate him. When he’s recovered, he steps back under the rain shower and lets the water wash away the soap suds. Turning on the hand shower, Albus washes his semen down off of the shower tiles and then turns all the taps off and pushes open the glass door of the cubicle. Hot, misty air billows out of the glass cube and diffuses amongst the cooler air of the rest of the bathroom. Albus takes a towel from the rack and throws it over his head, rubbing out as much of the moisture as he can, before wrapping the towel around his waist and tucking it in.

Albus crosses the bathroom, enjoying the charm that makes the tiles toasty warm on his wet feet. He wipes his hand across the mirror, clearing a streak of condensation away to inspect himself. He preens a bit, flexing his arms and making ridiculous poses. He’s just struck a pose where he’s flexing his biceps with his arms in the air and making a face which is aiming for sexy but is landing somewhere between ‘thinking hard’ and ‘constipated’ when the door swings open behind him. His eyes dart over in the mirror and he quickly runs his fingers through his hair, trying to pass off the pose as if he’d simply been combing his wet hair back off of his forehead.

Scorpius is standing in the doorway, mouth agog and staring at him. He hasn’t said a word since he walked in on Albus and Albus can see Scorp’s eyes trail down him and back up again. Clearing his throat, Albus breaks the embarrassing moment, “I was just…”

Scorpius’ face lights up and a broad grin is painted across his face from ear to ear. Albus can see his torso start to shake with suppressed laughter and then their eyes meet in the mirror’s reflection and they’re both laughing. Albus doubles over, hands resting on the counter as his body shakes uncontrollably while Scorpius holds himself up on the doorframe. They finally get control of themselves and Scorpius pushes off the doorframe and walks over to stand beside Albus in front of the mirror. Scorp picks up his toothbrush from the holder—neon orange, as opposed to Albus’ purple one—spreads some toothpaste on it and brushes his teeth, giving Albus a huge Cheshire grin in the meanwhile. Albus grabs his toothbrush, preps it, and brushes his teeth as well. The two of them stand there, brushing their teeth and grinning at each other for a few minutes, and then they both lean forward and spit into the sink, taking turns rinsing out their mouths with handfuls of water from the tap.

Replacing his toothbrush, Scorpius spins and leaves the bathroom, but he doubles back and sticks his head in, “See you at breakfast, Stud.” Albus can hear his laughter fade out as he walks away towards the kitchen and Albus can’t help but smile.

Albus finishes his morning ablutions and then heads to his room to get dressed. He has a very important meeting with a very important Muggle today, and he needs to look as professional as possible. Robes tend to make the Muggles give him sideways looks, but fortunately he has a 3-piece suit that Scorpius helped him pick out when they went shopping together after Albus landed his job at the Ministry. The suit had been specifically tailored for him—he even did the whole standing on the pedestal while the tailor takes your measurements and adds pins thing—and he has to admit that he likes how it looks on him. He thinks he may have to beg Scorpius to take him clothes shopping again because he’d never be able to pick out something that looks this good on him by himself.

Albus throws the tie over his neck, pops the collar of his button-up and lines the tie up. He fumbles a bit, trying to remember how to do the knot like Scorpius showed him, but after a few minutes he realizes that this is a lost cause and he’s going to need help with it. Albus heads to the kitchen and finds Scorpius there in front of the stove.

“I’m going to need you to show me how to do that knot again,” Albus shrugged and walked over to stand beside Scorp in front of the hob.

Scorpius turns off the gas and turns toward Albus, who steps up closer to him. Scorpius takes the two ends of the tie in his hands and centres it, making sure the two ends are the right length, and then he starts twisting the ends together in a complicated series of spins and flips and twists that Albus doesn’t think he’ll ever manage to get the hang of. After the incomprehensible sequence of movements, Scorp has managed to produce a stylish three sided knot and he tightens it, lining it up to his satisfaction, and then reaches around Albus’ neck to fold down the collar. Scorpius’ hands always seem to be cold, and Albus can feel the prickle of goosebumps forming on his neck as they graze over his skin.

Scorpius rests his hands on Albus’ chest for a moment, inspecting the tie, and then he clears his throat and steps back, letting his hands drop down to his side. “There you go, a perfect trinity knot. One of these days you’re really going to have to learn how to tie this on your own, you know?”

“Not so long as I have you,” Albus gives Scorpius a fond smile, but he’s confused when Scorp quickly looks away, not making eye contact with him.

He’s about to ask Scorp if something’s wrong when he speaks, “Yeah, but what about when you get a new girlfriend? I suppose I’ll have to teach her how to tie it for you, won’t I?” Scorpius takes the pot off of the stove and turns away, taking it over to the sink and pouring off the boiling water, steam rising from the metal. He takes a spoon out of the utensil drawer and manoeuvres each of the eggs, in turn, onto it, lifting them out of the pan and placing them in an egg tray, on two plates alongside buttered toast. Scorpius is a creature of habit when it comes to breakfast and his day just doesn’t go right if it doesn’t start with a five-minute soft-boiled egg and two slices of buttered, whole wheat toast.

“Thanks, Scorp,” Albus takes the plate which is proffered to him and they take their seats at the small, round dining table underneath the window. The kitchen faces east, and the bright morning sun is slanting through the slightly ajar blinds, and shining on Scorp’s bright white hair, making it look like it’s glowing. “Why would I want a girlfriend when I have a phenomenal roommate who makes me breakfast and ties an impeccable trinity knot? I have everything I could possibly want!”

Scorp stares at him a moment and then he drops his eyes to his plate, cracking the eggshell carefully around the top and peeling off the top of the egg so that he can scoop out the still runny yolk onto his toast. “Right. Roommates,” Albus just barely hears Scorpius’ low mumble as he takes a dainty bite of his toast.

“Scorp, if I’m cramping your style, I can make myself scarce for a while. I know that Rose hasn’t stayed over since I’ve been here, and I hope that wasn’t because you were uncomfortable having sex with my cousin while I’m here? You should invite her over tonight. I’ll go out for dinner and a few drinks after work and give you guys some time alone. How does that sound?”

“That’s not...you don’t…” Scorpius sighs, “Thanks, Mate. That would be lovely.” Albus reaches over and gives Scorp a friendly chuck on the shoulder and Scorp gives him a small smile in return. They finish their breakfast while discussing the plans for their day, and then they part ways: Scorp heading off to Diagon Alley for his job at Gringotts and Albus walking to the closest tube station to head to the Muggle parliament building for his meeting.

Later that afternoon, Albus yawns and stretches in his chair in his office. He has just managed to finally clear the inbox on his desk and his stomach is grumbling, reminding him that he has neglected to have lunch yet again. Bending over, he rifles through the bottom drawer of his desk, where he’s almost positive that he stuffed a granola bar or two a few weeks ago, when his office door suddenly slams open and he jumps in fright.

Rose Granger-Weasley stands framed in the door frame with her arms crossed over her chest, wand in hand, and an irate look on her face.

“What the fuck, Rose?” Albus can feel his heart pounding a mile a minute in his chest and he silently curses Rose’s flair for the dramatic that will be the death of him someday.

Rose steps into his small office, swishes her wand over her shoulder, and the door slams shut behind her. His tiny office feels clogged and suffocating, filled with the magic and mysterious anger that is cascading off of her in waves. “Answer me something, Al. Are you a cruel, self-involved tool, or are you just clueless to a level that defies comprehension?”

Albus stares at her in shock, trying to figure out what he’s done to cause her so much anger. Before he can respond, she continues, “That was a rhetorical question. I know you’re not a cruel person, but I can’t handle seeing your cluelessness continue to hurt someone I care very deeply about.”

“I don’t know what yo—”

Rose interrupts him, “Scorpius is in love with you, and if you are never going to acknowledge your feelings for him, then you need to back off and move out and give him a chance to get over you.”

Albus can only stare because what she is saying makes no sense. Albus covertly moves his hand over to his leg and pinches his thigh, just to test whether he’s fallen asleep at his desk or something, but the sharp flick of pain that he feels seems to disprove that theory. Rose continues to stare at him and he thinks perhaps he should reply, but he doesn’t even know where to start.

“Would you like some tea?” Albus immediately wants to smack himself. _Would you like some tea??_ What the hell was that?! She has just stormed into his office, announced that her boyfriend is, in fact, in love with _him_ , and all he can think to say is _‘Would you like some tea?’_

Based on the snort that Rose lets out, he supposes that she’s in agreement with him in thinking he’s a total idiot, but she nods and he can see some of the angry tension ease out of her shoulders as she takes a seat in the chair across from him.

Albus stands up and makes his way over to the side table where he keeps an insta-boil kettle filled with water and a selection of teas. He’s glad for this routine, this totally normal act, because inside he feels like his organs have been infested with crawling insects. Any excuse that will buy him more time to process the news that Rose has dropped on him like an anvil is most welcome right now. He rips open a package of the vanilla rooibos tea that he knows Rose prefers and a chamomile for himself—which he hopes will help calm his nerves—and taps the kettle with his wand once, the water inside immediately bubbling. He taps the kettle a second time and pours the steaming water over the tea bags in the mugs.

He picks up the two mugs and walks around his desk to hand Rose’s to her, then circles back around to the other side and takes his seat again.

“Well now that we have the important business of tea sorted,” Rose smirks at him, “can we talk about your intentions toward Scorpius now?” Rose has one brow raised in an inquiring gesture as she takes a sip of her rooibos.

Albus stalls for more time and takes a sip, then places the mug down on his desk. “I just...that’s a lot to take in. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. You and Scorpius have been dating since 5th year at Hogwarts, so I think you must be mistaken.”

“Scorpius and I have never dated. Well, I guess technically we went on two dates, but we were never _really_ boyfriend and girlfriend. We’re just really good friends, and we provided a necessary function to one another, so we just let people assume what they wanted to about us. It’s not our fault that people are still so regressive that they assume that if a man and a woman spend time with each other they must be in a romantic relationship.” Rose shrugs.

“But...but...that makes no sense! You guys have been double dating with me and my dates for years.”

“Yup, and that’s the necessary function I fulfilled for him. He needed someone that he could double date with, but that wouldn’t feel like he was leading them on,” Rose explains.

“Why would you do that though? What did you get out of it?”

“Well, aside from the fact that Scorpius is my friend and I would want to help him out anyway, as long as he and I were ‘dating’, I didn’t have to explain to our family that I don’t want to date anyone because I’m aro/ace.” At Albus’ blank stare, Rose clarifies, “Aromantic/Asexual. It means that I do not experience romantic or sexual attraction to people.”

Albus feels like his head is reeling with all of the new information that is coming at him. He takes another sip of his tea, thinking briefly that he wishes he had some Firewhisky to put in this because that may actually stand a chance in hell of calming him down. “Really? You mean you’ve _never_ …”

“Nope.” Rose shrugs, then seeing the look on Albus’ face, a flare of her anger returns, “Albus Severus Potter, you wipe that obnoxious look of pity off your face right this instant. I will not sit here and be pitied by you. There’s nothing about this that deserves that emotion. I am happy with who I am.”

Albus holds out his hands in a gesture of appeasement, “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I just...I’ve just never heard of this before and it took me by surprise. Twenty minutes ago my best friend was dating my cousin and now he’s apparently in love with me and she couldn’t give a flying fig about it because she doesn’t feel romantic or sexual about _anyone_.”

Rose sighs. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to jump on you like that. I’m just nervous about how the family is going to take the news and it felt like my worst nightmare was coming true for a second there.”

“Why are you afraid of telling the family? Surely you don’t think that they would turn against you or something?”

“No, not really. Our family is great. It’s just that our family is so large because there are so many loving, happy marriages, and I’m just nervous that they’ll never really understand how I feel.” After a moment of contemplation, she amends her statement, “Well, except for Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry, of course. I guess Nan and Gramps took their split alright.” She shrugs, “If you pull your head out of your arse and decide to stop ignoring the obvious and seize your chance to be with someone as amazing as Scorpius while you can, then I’ll consider coming out to the family.”

For a moment, Albus had almost forgotten Rose’s insane claim that Scorpius is in love with him, so distracted was he by Rose’s news, but now he can feel his cheeks flushing as his thoughts race with the implications of her words, “That’s not...possible. Scorpius and I are just friends. Best friends. There’s no way...I’d know!”

Rose rolls her eyes, “Well, I guess you would know best. I suppose it’s _possible_ that all those Floo calls I have been getting for the past few weeks in which he waxes poetic about how funny you are, and how smart you are, and how good you smell _could_ just be platonic.”

Albus has been nodding his head along as Rose speaks, but he jerks slightly at that last one. That certainly doesn’t sound something a friend would say…

“But I think it would be hard to argue he’s just thinking of you as a friend when he said how he wishes he could have licked every ridge of your abs and removed your towel with his teeth when he walked in on you fresh from the shower earlier,” Rose has a smug look on her face as Albus’ jaw drops and he feels like his head might be about to spontaneously combust.

Albus just stares at Rose, searching her face for any sign of deception, because surely she must be taking the piss. “Have some tea, Albus. Your mouth is probably getting desiccated from hanging agape like that,” Rose’s tone has softened, taking pity on Albus, who has obviously been blindsided by this information.

Albus guzzles down the tea, even though it is still quite hot and is burning his mouth, while Rose continues, “I’m sorry I did this so...brashly, Al. I just always kind of thought you must know, at least to some extent, how Scorp feels about you. I mean, he’s not exactly subtle. I thought maybe you just kind of liked having someone think you hung the moon. I see what my mom means now about how Uncle Harry can be really obtuse—you must have inherited that trait from him.”

Rose stands up and takes one final sip of her tea. “I just...he’s my friend too, and I am tired of seeing him hurting like this. If there’s no chance of anything happening between the two of you, then I think you need to give him some space and let him try and get over you.” Rose walks to the door and opens it, then pauses, “And if there is a chance, then what are you waiting for?”


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

It only took Albus about three minutes after Rose left to realize that there was a greater chance of trolls invading the Ministry than there was of him getting any more work done that afternoon. Grabbing his jacket, he pops his head into his boss’ office and begs off for the day, claiming a family emergency, and then heads up in the crowded lift back to the Atrium level. He walks towards the Floos, but then changes his mind, realizing that he’s not yet ready to go home and perhaps run into Scorp. He needs some time to himself to think all of this over, so he veers left instead. He pulls a knut out of his pocket and tosses it into the Fountain of Magical Brethren out of habit as he walks past, this time uttering a mental wish that his friendship with Scorp will survive this.

Albus continues past the fountain and steps into the telephone booth lift that serves as the Muggle entrance to the Ministry. He pushes the door closed in the cramped vessel and, with a jolt, it starts ascending up to the ground floor. After about a minute, the bright sunshine pierces through the emerging window of the booth as it slots into place. Albus slips out of the booth and looks from side-to-side, not entirely sure what his plan is. Shrugging, he chooses a direction at random and turns right, weaving his way down the street around the bustling late afternoon crowds who, judging by the hands weighed down with full-to-bursting carrier bags, are out in droves to do their Christmas shopping.

The November air is crisp and Albus considers attempting to surreptitiously cast a Warming Charm on himself but doesn’t want to risk drawing attention with so many Muggles around, so instead he pops the collar on his jacket and stuffs his hands deep into his pockets. After twenty minutes or so, the crowds are starting to become overwhelming and he looks around, seeking a refuge. Spotting a small, nondescript bar wedged between two large buildings, he looks both ways and dashes across the street.

Albus pulls open the wooden door, painted black, and steps into the narrow space. Along the left side of the space, six tables are arranged in an alternating pattern, closely set together. A burgundy wood bar stretches down the right side for about half of the room, and Albus can see a few more tables scattered near the back. The bar is busy, all of the tables full, with waitresses weaving their way between the tables, dropping off pints of ale and cones of hot chips.

Albus makes his way to the far end of the bar where he sees an open spot and takes a seat. After a few minutes, the harried bartender makes his way over to him and asks him what he wants. Albus panics, realizing that he’s not entirely sure what sorts of drinks Muggles have, and then he stammers out an order for a whiskey sour—a Muggle in an old black and white movie that Scorp and he had watched once had mentioned it and it was the first drink that had popped into his head under pressure.

The bartender nods, pulls out a shiny silver container and starts pouring things into it, measuring the various ingredients out into a small shot glass first. Placing the cap on, he starts shaking the container vigorously up and down a few times, and then he removes the cap and pours the mixture into a low-cut glass with ice. The bartender garnishes the side of the glass with a twirling slice of orange and drops a cherry into the glass before handing the works to Albus. “That’ll be £9.”

Albus pulls out his wallet and inspects the Muggle currency, pulling out a £10 note and handing it over with an instruction for the bartender to keep the change. He nods a gesture of thanks and then turns away to serve another thirsty patron. Albus takes a tentative sip of the cheerful-looking yellow concoction and is pleasantly surprised at the refreshing sour-sweet flavours that are vying for attention on his tongue. He thinks, briefly, that he and Scorp should stock their little bar cart with some Muggle alcohols and experiment with these drinks at home, and then the afternoon’s conversation comes back to him and suddenly his head is swirling.

 _Scorpius is in love with me._ Albus tests the words, the idea, out in his head. The sentence technically makes sense, but it seems like such a surreal concept that Albus can’t get a firm grasp on it. Every time he feels like he’s getting close to it, the thought skitters away from him, always out of his grasp, never concrete.

 _Scorpius loves me_. This...this is much more manageable. Of course Scorpius loves him, just as he loves Scorp. They’ve been best mates since they were eleven; almost half of their lives have been ravelled together. They suffered through the misery of puberty together, and saved this timeline as they know it together (arguably, only because it needed saving after they broke it). Scorpius is the first person that he wants to tell when something good happens to him, and he’s the person he turns to when he needs to vent after someone’s pissed him off. Albus tries to imagine his life without talking to Scorpius nearly every day and it feels bleak.

Loving someone and being in love with someone are two very different things though. Being in love with someone comes with other things—physical things—and Albus isn’t sure that he’s interested in the physical aspects of a relationship with another man. Sure, he’s checked out the other boys in the dormitory back at school, but that’s just because it’s totally normal for a guy to want to compare himself to other guys. Everybody does that!

Albus takes another sip of his drink and spins around on his barstool, taking a look at the other patrons of the bar. There’s a black man sitting at the table closest to him and he inspects him, testing whether he feels a stirring of interest. The man’s hair is trimmed short, close to his scalp, and he has eyes that light up as he laughs at something his female companion has just said. His lips are plump and Albus imagines kissing him for a moment, but he doesn’t feel even a lick of interest, so his eyes resume scanning the room.

Closer to the middle of the room, he watches as a ginger-haired man standing by a table bends over and leans on the tabletop, drawing something on a sketchpad. Albus lets his eyes wander down the man’s frame until they land on his bum, which is round and showing off to great effect in the man’s fitted denims. Albus inspects the fine display almost clinically. He admires the man’s tush, even wishes his was a bit more ample like the man's, but he doesn’t feel any stirrings of sexual interest.

Albus is starting to think that he’s really not got any inklings towards men when his gaze swings back and snags on a man who is just exiting the lavatory. He sits upright on his stool as his eyes slither over the man’s lanky frame. He’s wearing black, narrow-cut trousers and a jade green cashmere sweater over a white button-up shirt, the sleeves pushed up and rolled back to reveal his forearms. The man’s facial features are sharp and angular and should look severe, but he is wearing his blonde hair long, to just below his ears, and the hair hangs loose, framing his face and rounding out the features.

Albus feels a tiny stirring of excitement in his belly as he imagines being on a date with the man, holding his hand, kissing him. But it’s not until the hair in his daydream begins to lighten, the faint tinge of red slowly fading away and leaving ash blonde, that he feels his cock start to stir.

“Another?”

Albus jolts and spins around at the inquiry from the bartender. He stares at him in confusion, wondering how he could possibly know that he’s sitting here imagining the gorgeous blonde man morphing into another man, wondering if perhaps he could be a Legilimens. The bartender gives him an aggrieved look and then motions to the now-empty glass in his hands, “Do you want another drink?”

Albus feels a wave of relief and embarrassment rush over him at his moment of panic and he shakes his head in denial. He places the glass back on the bar and then stands up and heads to the door and back out into the cool November afternoon. He is beginning to think that his feelings for Scorpius may extend beyond those strictly of friendship—the lingering stiffness in his cock is hard to ignore—but he needs to talk about this with someone, and fortunately he just happens to know someone who will be able to relate to what he’s going through.

Ducking into a dark alley, Albus takes a look around to make sure that he’s alone, and then he pulls out his wand and Apparates away, landing with a crack a second later on the front stoop of Grimmauld Place. He rings the doorbell and waits, hoping that his dad is home, and is rewarded less than a minute later when the front door is pulled open and his dad is pulling him in across the frame and encompassing him in a tight hug.

“It’s so great to see you here, Al!” his dad enthuses, giving him a hearty slap on the back and then holding him by the shoulders at arm’s length.

“Alright, alright. Calm down, Dad. It’s only been a couple of weeks since I’ve seen you.” Albus runs his hand through his hair, brushing it back, uncomfortable with his dad’s scrutiny, as if he can somehow tell that Albus may have just started going through a sexual identity crisis.

Harry sighs and drops his arms, pushing the door shut and heading downstairs towards the kitchen, gesturing for Albus to follow him. Albus jogs down the half-floor of stairs and into the kitchen. He is impressed to see that his dad seems to be doing some updates on Grimmauld Place and the kitchen is now painted a cheerful yellow colour, with freshly painted white cupboards and cabinets. The dank, musty kitchen he remembers from the few times they stayed in Grimmauld Place when he was growing up has been turned around, and the room is warm and inviting now.

Harry crosses over and picks the kettle up off of the stove and fills it with water from the tip of his wand after casting a wordless _Aguamenti_. “Wow, Dad! This place looks great!” Al’s enthusiasm and surprise is evident in his voice.

His dad lets out a small laugh, “Yeah, well it’s a start, but there’s a long way to go yet to get this place to feel more like a home and less like a haunted house.” Harry places the newly-filled kettle onto one of the burners and turns the hob on, then turns around and bends over the centre island as Albus takes a seat at one of the counter chairs. “So what brings you here, kiddo?”

Al rolls his eyes, “I’m not a ‘kiddo’ anymore, Dad. I’m an adult now.”

Harry just gives him a wide grin, “Sorry to tell you this, Al, but it won’t matter how old you get. You’ll always be my kiddo. Now, what’s on your mind?”

“How do you know something’s on my mind?” Albus deflects.

“Al. I’ve had nineteen wonderful years in which to learn how to read you. Give me a little credit. I know when something has my son disturbed.”

“I wouldn't say I’m disturbed, per se…” Albus trails off and he starts rubbing his hands up and down his thighs, wiping away the nervous moisture that has formed on his palms. Harry doesn’t say anything, but rather just stares at him expectantly, waiting for Albus to work up to what he wants to say.

“I guess I’m just wondering…” Albus drops his gaze to the countertop and rushes through the rest of his question, “ _howdidyouknowthatyouweregay?”_

Albus looks up at his dad in time to see his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He takes a moment to consider his response. Just then the tea kettle starts to whistle and Harry busies himself making them tea. He hands one of the steaming mugs over the counter island and Albus gratefully accepts it.

“I suppose there was a part of me that always knew that I found other men attractive. I spent a fair amount of my youth taking notice of features of other men that I found attractive, and there are some—Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, first and foremost—that would argue that I may have been just the teensiest bit obsessed with one of the other boys that we went to Hogwarts with,” Harry has a faint smile on his face as he stares over Albus’ shoulder, seeming lost in remembrance.

“Mr Malfoy, you mean?” Albus asks. When Harry jolts and looks as if Al has made him nervous, he rushes to reassure him, “I’ve heard a few of the stories over the years, especially the one about how you followed Mr Malfoy around all of sixth year.” Albus shrugs and Harry laughs.

“In retrospect, I guess it does seem fairly obvious. I want you to know that I did love your mother, though. It’s not like I was ever faking how much I loved her and you kids.”

“I know. I could tell that you guys haven’t been happy together the last few years, but you’ve always been there for James, Lily, and me. And when you guys announced that you were going to get a divorce, Mum sat us all down and explained that it was just as much her decision as it was yours and that you guys still love each other as friends.”

Harry’s smile is fond but slightly sad. “She’s a wonderful woman, is your Mum.”

Albus nods, and then steers the conversation back to the reason why he’s here, “So you’re...what? Attracted to both men and women?”

Harry nods. “To be honest, Al, I’m still working this all out for myself, but yeah, I would say that’s probably the gist of it. My whole life I have felt the allure of other men, but I wasn’t ready to accept that part of myself, so I spent a lot of time and energy trying to suppress those feelings. After a while, it felt like I didn’t know who or what I was anymore and what I really wanted, and so now I’ve given myself the freedom to explore that side of myself, finally.”

Al’s brows draw together, contemplating what his father’s just said as he takes a sip of his tea. His dad’s situation doesn’t sound like his own. He’s definitely never felt the same pull towards boys as he has towards girls.

“What’s going on, Al?” Harry’s tone is soft and encouraging.

Al slowly rotates the mug between his hands for a moment, working up the courage to voice the doubts he’s started having. He takes a deep breath and his shoulders sag as he places his elbows on the counter’s surface and runs both hands through the shaggy hair that he’s inherited from his dad. He chuckles briefly to himself when the thought that his hair may not be the only quality he’s inherited from his dad. Finally, after what feels like a few minutes, but which has probably only been twenty seconds or so, he looks up and meets his father’s steady gaze.

“Rose came to visit me at work today.” Harry nods, encouraging him to continue. “And she informed me that she doesn’t have any interest in sex, her and Scorpius have never actually been a couple, and apparently Scorpius has been in love with me since Hogwarts.”

Albus expects his dad to look shocked, or at least surprised, but his face is calm and he’s just simply nodding as if none of this comes as news to him. “You knew?!” Albus can hear the shrieky tone in his voice, but he can’t help but feel like his dad has betrayed him somehow—like he could have prepared Albus for all of this, and instead kept the information to himself, leaving Albus to have the rug pulled out from under him.

Harry holds his hands up in a calming gesture, “I didn’t know anything for sure, actually, but your mum and I have had our suspicions about Scorpius for a while now, so I don’t find that part all that surprising. Rose being asexual is new to me, but looking back, it makes sense. She and Scorpius never seemed very affectionate with each other, at least not romantically. They always just seemed like close friends.”

“How do you even know what that is? Asexual?” Albus asks, a little huffy that he seems to have been the only person that was clueless about what was going on with his best friend.

Harry chuckles softly and his cheeks darken slightly. “From a book. When I told your aunt Hermione that I was questioning my sexuality, she bought me a Muggle book that explains the wide spectrum of gender identities and sexual orientations. Leave it to your Auntie to assign homework in the middle of an identity crisis.”

Albus gives a half-hearted chuckle at Harry’s joke and his face becomes intense once again. “I’m guessing that, as interesting as Rose’s news is, you’re here because you want to talk to me about Scorpius, is that right?” Harry asks gently.

Albus chews nervously on his bottom lip and nods his head quickly, but doesn’t say anything. After a moment, Harry prompts him, “How are you feeling about that?”

Albus finds he still can’t make eye contact with his father, so he directs his answer to his mug. “I don’t know. I mean...this morning Scorp was my best friend and now he’s in love with me and I have to figure out how I feel about him and...and...I am just really scared to lose him. I don’t-I don’t want to lose him.” Albus is horrified to feel tears threatening to form in his eyes and his voice cracks, so he takes another sip of his tea, getting himself under control again.

“Well since you’re here, I’m guessing you’re at least confused about how you feel and aren’t absolutely positive that you have no interest in dating Scorpius,” Harry says.

“Yeah...but I don’t think I’m gay, dad. I wouldn’t say that I’ve ever really been attracted to random blokes or thought about hooking up with them…”

Harry nods, “Okay. But?”

Albus shimmies on the chair, suddenly feeling even more uncomfortable. “But...well...I was checking out some blokes in the bar earlier, and none of them were doing anything for me...but then I saw this one guy who kind of...well, he was attractive. And then I realized that he reminded me of Scorp and...well then the idea of kissing _him_ did start to do something for me.”

Harry smiles kindly at him, “And that’s a problem?”

Albus huffs out a frustrated sigh and draws his eyebrows together in a look of frustration. “Yes! Because I’m definitely not gay—I know that I like girls—and I don’t think I’m bisexual either—I wasn’t attracted to any of those men in the bar—so what does that make me?!”

“I should lend you that book that Hermione got me.” Harry reaches out a hand and places it on Albus’ shoulder, massaging the tense muscle by his neck. “It’s okay, Albus. There isn’t just straight, gay, and bisexual. There’s a whole rainbow of ways that people identify their sexual orientation now.”

Albus feels a bubble of hope rising up in him. “Really?” he asks in a soft, hopeful voice.

Harry nods, “You may identify as pansexual; they are attracted to people, regardless of what gender identity they have.” Albus tilts his head, rolling this new option around in his head, seeing if it fits, before his dad continues, “Or maybe you’re a straight man who is in love with his best friend, who just happens to be a man.”

For the first time since this afternoon, he thinks that maybe—just maybe—everything is going to be alright and he and Scorpius might be able to make this thing work between them. He gives his dad a heartfelt smile and he comes around the counter and pulls Albus into a tight hug. Albus breathes in the familiar scent of his dad’s cologne and relaxes.

“You know I’ll always love you, right?” his dad assures quietly. “It doesn’t matter to me a lick whether you’re straight, gay, bi, pan, or Scorpiusexual. You’ll always be my kiddo, and I’ll always love you to pieces.”

Albus discreetly rubs his moist eyes on the shoulder of his father’s soft sweater. “Thanks, Dad.”


	4. Chapter 4

 

Albus steps out of the Floo and slaps the dust off the shoulder of his jacket.

“Albus? Is that you?” Scorpius’ voice floats out to him from the kitchen of the apartment.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Albus hastily pulls out his wand, shrinks down the book that his dad had insisted he borrow before he left, and tucks it into his back pocket. Sliding his jacket off, Albus tosses it over the back of the couch before doubling back and picking it up again—Scorpius likes to have everything neat and tidy, and his eye always twitches when Albus leaves his jacket lying about on the furniture. Albus hangs the offending garment up in the hall closet and then heads down the hallway towards the kitchen.

Scorpius is just bending over and removing something from the oven when Albus emerges through the door frame. Albus finds his eyes zooming in on Scorpius’ firm ass, the pleasing shape emphasized nicely by the charcoal grey trousers that are pulled taut as he removes a baking pan from the oven. Albus still isn’t quite sure what he’s going to do about this whole situation between them, but he can’t deny that now that he’s bothered to look at Scorpius through this new lens, he likes what he sees.

Clearing his throat, Albus takes a deep breath and suddenly becomes aware of the heavenly scent that permeates the room. He can’t hold back the moan that escapes his lips and he watches, curious, as Scorpius jumps slightly and pauses, and then clears his throat and turns around. Albus’ eyes slide down his best friend’s body and his arousal is suddenly overshadowed by his amusement when he sees what Scorpius is wearing: his, doubtless, expensive outfit is being protected by the most ridiculous apron that Albus has ever seen. A naked wizard graces the front of the apron, his cock replaced by an oversized wand that he has grasped firmly in his hand. As he watches, the little figure gives him a saucy little wink and then sparks of colour shoot out of the wand’s tip.

Albus can’t help it; he bursts out laughing. “Where on Earth did you get that?!” he eventually manages to choke out, through gasping breaths as he doubles over in a fit of laughter. Scorpius’ cheeks flush with embarrassment, but he laughs along with Albus and rolls his eyes. “Rose—the terror. Said she absolutely could not wait to give it to me next month for Christmas and had to give it to me now.” Scorpius looks down his chest just as more sparks shoot out of the phallic wand. “Thank Merlin! Can you imagine if I opened this up in front of my dad and grandmother?!”

Scorpius’ face contorts into a look of horror and that’s all Albus needs to set him off again. Scorp’s face crumples for a moment and then he’s dropping the pan onto the counter and the two of them are laughing hysterically together. It takes a few minutes for them to wind up because every time they look at each other they are set off again, but then finally they manage to get ahold of themselves and Scorpius pulls off his oven mitts and is wiping his eyes on the heel of his palm.

“Oh man, I needed that,” Albus says.

Scorpius’ face settles into a more serious expression. “Did you have a rough day?”

Albus doesn’t want to tell him that what he really needed was assurance that his whole world isn’t upside down—that he and Scorpius can still be...Al & Scorp. He had been afraid that when he saw Scorpius again that everything would feel different, that he wouldn’t know what to say or how to act around him. Right now he’s basking in the warm glow of relief that their relationship still feels the same way it always has: comfortable.

“Nah, not bad, just...busy. Those smell amazing though. Carbs have the power to cure a great many ills,” Albus gives Scorpius a wide grin and starts walking over to the heavenly-scented cinnamon buns.

“They’re not ready yet; I still need to ice them,” Scorpius objects, bringing Albus to an abrupt halt midway across the kitchen. “Go take a seat in the living room, take a load off, and I’ll bring you one once they’re ready, yeah?”

“Thanks Scorp. You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’d say anything to get your hands on my buns.” Colour floods into Scorpius’ cheeks once again when he sees the devilish glint in Albus’ eyes and he practically shouts out in his flustered state, “my cinnamon buns! I meant my CINNAMON buns!”

Albus laughs as he walks out of the kitchen and back to the living room. Scorpius may be closer to the truth than he imagines, Albus thinks to himself as he takes out his wand and sets a fire ablaze in the fireplace. Taking a seat on their sofa, he waves his wand at the bookcase on the opposing wall and the decoy shelves slide forward and to the side, revealing a large 65” television mounted to the wall. Although Draco’s feelings on Muggles and their technology has softened significantly, Scorpius still had to listen to a twenty-minute lecture on the idiocy of sitting in front of the Muggle portrait box for hours at a time when he had expressed an interest in purchasing one. He had decided that what Draco didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him, and had set up the decoy bookcases to conceal the contraband contraption.

He starts the Netflix application on the smart TV and waits for it to finish loading, then scrolls down to their Continue Watching list and queues up the next episode of Community. They had picked the comedy after Scorpius had a particularly tough day at Gringotts, and now they’re hooked on the wacky comedy. Scorpius says that nothing is better for sponging his mind clear of Goblin politics than Troy and Abed’s bromance.

“You didn’t start without me, did you?!” Scorpius’ entry into the living room comes with a waft of cinnamon and sugar aroma that makes Albus’ mouth water. He turns around on the sofa to watch as Scorpius circles around the sofa with two steaming cups of coffee in his hand, and two cinnamon bun-loaded plates bobbing along behind him.

“Of course not, Scorp. I just got it all queued up. I wouldn’t start without you.” Scorpius gives him a warm smile as he sets one of the coffee mugs down in front of Albus and takes a seat on the sofa. He takes his wand out of his arm holster and motions one of the plates over to Albus, who plucks it out of the air. “Merlin, these smell amazing! Thanks!”

Scorpius grabs his hovering plate and shrugs his shoulder as he looks over at Albus, “I’ll make some...woman very happy someday.” Albus isn’t sure that he would have caught the hesitation in Scorp’s voice if he wasn’t listening for it. He isn’t prepared for the quick flash of anger that shoots through him at Scorpius’ lie. He’s upset that Scorpius doesn’t feel like he can be honest with him—surely he doesn’t actually think that Albus would think poorly of him if he knows that he’s gay. Albus’ frustration turns inward when he realizes that maybe he hasn’t been the best friend that Scorpius deserves if he doesn’t feel safe being himself with him. Whatever he decides to do about this situation, he vows to make sure that nothing Scorpius can tell him will ever make him think less of him. He wants Scorpius to be honest with him—and himself.

Albus hits the pause button on the TV and for the next few minutes, they watch as the study group talks about Troy’s imminent departure from the show and then Abed announces the schoolwide game of Lava, in which nobody can touch the floor or they are excluded from the game and the chance to win the $50,000 dollar prize. As the Lava World title card fades onto the screen, Scorpius lets out a loud cheer, “YES! I love these special episodes! The paintball episodes were amazing!”

Albus can’t help but agree with Scorpius, but when he turns his head to say as much, he is immediately sidetracked by the sight that greets him. Scorpius has just placed an oversized strip of cinnamon bun in his mouth, and some of the sticky, gooey icing sugar is glazing his upper lip and suddenly all Albus can think about is how much he wants to lean over and lick that off. He just barely holds back the groan when Scorpius’ bright pink tongue slides out and fervently licks at the sticky, white spots. When he alternately sticks each of his sticky fingers between those lips and cleans them off, Albus thinks he might just come right here in his pants. He imagines what it would be like to replace those thin fingers with his own thick cock, to feel the wet heat of his best friend’s mouth encompassing his sensitive flesh while that tongue caresses him, and—Merlin! That’s such a fucking hot image that Albus covertly slides the couch throw pillow onto his lap to hide his growing erection.

Scorpius’ loud bark of laughter jolts him out of his distraction and he refocuses on the TV, trying to get ahold of himself. He’s still not sure what label, exactly, he wants to put on himself—maybe he actually should read that book that his dad loaned him—but he knows for sure that the idea of kissing, licking, and fucking Scorpius definitely gets his blood pumping, and he wants to see where this could go between them. He loves having Scorpius in his life as his friend, but now that his eyes have been opened to the possibility of more, he wants Scorpius to be his everything. But before that can happen, there’s someone he needs to talk to.

★★★

Albus waves his wand in front of the security panel on the black, steel gates that bar entry to the expansive grounds of the Malfoy Estate. A moment later there is a cracking sound and Albus looks down to see the diminutive figure of Poe, the Malfoy family’s house elf, on the other side of the gates.

“What is visitor wanting please?” the little elf’s high, squeaky voice inquires nervously.

“I need to speak to Mr Malfoy please, Poe.”

“Mr Scorpius is not here. Mr Scorpius is at his apartment in the city, he is.”

“Actually, I need to speak to Drac-er...Scorpius’s dad.”

Albus isn’t sure, but he thinks Poe looks surprised at his request, but before he can elaborate on why he’s there, the elf tells him to “wait here, please” and then disappears once again. Albus ducks his face into the warmth of the charcoal grey, wool scarf wrapped around his neck as a gust of wind bites into his skin. Poe is gone for long minutes, and Albus, bouncing on the balls of his feet to keep moving and fight off the cold, starts to worry that Draco will refuse to see him. He’s just started inspecting the gates, wondering if he would have any chance of scaling over them, when the elf reappears and the gates start to swing open.

“Sir will follow me to Master Draco’s study.” The small elf turns and starts to trudge up the long gravel driveway. Albus is relieved to see that the little elf is wearing warm-looking woollen socks and a thick, purple, velvet cape in this weather. He knows, from Scorpius, that Draco had offered all of the Malfoy family house elves their freedom after the war, and fair wages if they wanted to continue their employment. Though some of the elves had been quick to leave and were now happily employed at Hogwarts, one or two of them had decided to stay on—especially since Lucius had been sent to Azkaban after the war and was not around to terrorize them anymore. Draco and Narcissa had always been kind to the house elves and had earned the loyalty of several of them, like Poe, who wanted to continue to serve them.

Albus follows the elf through the wide double doors of the Manor and into the magically warmed home. He stops to hang up his winter coat, scarves, and gloves in the hall closet and remove his snow-damp shoes, then he follows Poe up the curving marble staircase to the second floor of the mansion and down the hallway. Poe stops just to the side of a dark, mahogany wood door and gestures for Albus to knock.

“Thank you, Poe,” Albus smiles nervously at the elf. Poe nods his head in acknowledgement and then goes running down the hallway, his tiny feet making pitter patter sounds. Albus takes a moment to gather his nerve before taking a deep breath and knocking three times on the wood. A muffled “come in” comes from behind the door and he turns the handle and steps inside.

Draco is seated behind his large desk and his head remains bent down as he scrolls something onto a parchment with an iridescent peacock feather quill, Albus stands uncertainly by the door for a moment before Draco motions, irritated, to one of the chairs situated across from him.

Albus walks over and takes a seat in one of the cushy wingback chairs and waits for Mr Malfoy’s attention. He looks around the room, taking in the tall shelves filled with books that completely cover one wall of the spacious room; he even has one of those ladders on tracks that you can slide along to access the high shelves that are out of reach. Albus takes a moment to appreciate the radiant heat that is coming out of the white marble fireplace to the side of them before his eyes come to rest on the ornate desk. Made out of what looks like teak, the edges are carved with a climbing vine pattern that appears to wrap around the long stem of a calla lily, the gently curving flower of which makes up the feet of the desk.

Draco abruptly sets aside his quill and the parchment that he has been working on and looks up to Albus, jolting him out of his appreciation of the craftsmanship. “Albus, this is a surprise. You’ve never asked to speak with me alone before.” Draco settles back in his chair, lacing his hands together over his torso and resting his elbows on the armrests of the chair, and stares intently at Albus.

Albus pauses for a moment, flummoxed by the simple statement and unsure whether that was an invitation to continue, or merely a statement of a fact, but decides that since he’s not been asked to leave, he will assume it was an invitation to state his piece.

“Mr Malfoy, sir, I wanted to come here because...well…,” Albus has trouble getting the words out.

“Just spit it out, Mr Potter,” Draco says, clearly annoyed.

Albus squares his shoulders and stares intently at Scorpius’ dad. Clearing his throat, Albus tries again, “I wanted to come here because I always got the impression that you didn’t particularly like me and I wanted to see whether there is something that I can do to fix that.”

Draco’s face remains almost entirely impassive, only a slight raising of his eyebrows betrays that he’s surprised by Albus’ admission. “I see,” he is staring at Albus, not breaking eye contact and Albus wants to squirm under the intense scrutiny, but instinctively knows that will come off as a sign of weakness and will not help his case with Mr Malfoy. “And if that were true, what of it? It’s never seemed to bother you before. Why are you feeling this burning need for reconciliation now?”

“Well, Sir, it’s a little complicated, but I guess it boils down to the fact that I’ve come to realize that I am in love with your son and I would like to court him, and I would feel a lot better about that if I knew I had your approval.” Albus can tell that he’s shocked Draco and a fleeting feeling of satisfaction lights through him for a moment at unseating someone who’s usually so buttoned-up and controlled. Maybe I inherited that from Dad too, the thought floats through his brain with amusement, but he schools his face to make sure Draco doesn’t think he’s taking the piss with him.

Draco leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his desk and crossing his arms in front of him. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes. What would I have to gain from lying about it?”

“You forget that I was in Slytherin too. Cunning is one of our house’s most prized traits, so you will forgive me if I am suspicious that, despite a history of heterosexuality, you’re suddenly claiming to be in love with another man.” Draco’s left eyebrow rises in a look of shrewd assessment.

“Slytherins also value self-preservation, and it would hardly be in my best interests to come here and lie to you about my intentions towards your only son and heir, now would it?” Albus retorts.

One side of Draco’s lips tick up in a small smirk at Albus’ statement. “I suppose I can’t argue with that. So, enlighten me. What’s led you to this sudden revelation that you would like to romance my son after all these years?”

“It’s recently been brought to my attention that I may have missed a few clues over the years about how Scorpius feels about me—” Draco lets out a very uncharacteristic snort, but Albus continues over him, “and now I would like to make up for all of that lost time.”

Draco sighs, “I hate to point out the obvious, but as far as I’m aware, you are a straight man. Don’t you think that is somewhat problematic for this genius plan of yours?”

“All of my past relationships have been with women, that is true, but I can assure you that Scorpius being a man does not lessen my desire to be in a relationship with him.”

Draco is silent for a moment, and then Albus can feel the feathered presence of another person inside his thoughts and he realizes that Mr Malfoy is a Legilimens and a spike of shocked fear shoots through him. He’s got nothing to hide though, so he grits his teeth and holds himself rigid as Draco rifles through his thoughts. He gives him twenty seconds or so, just long enough to assure him that his feelings for Scorpius are genuine, and then he pulls up the memories of his recent wanking sessions. He lets Draco see a collage of him jerking off to fantasies of doing any number of sexual acts with Scorp, and he breathes out a deep sigh of relief when he feels the pressing presence slip out of his mind.

Draco fixes him with a frosty look, “That was uncalled for. That is more than I ever needed to know about my son and his prospective partner.”

Albus fights back the frustration and gives back an equally frosty response, “Well then next time you should obtain consent before you invade someone else’s mind.”

They stare at each other a moment in a silent battle and then Draco gives a slight nod of his head. “You’re right. That was rude and inappropriate of me. However, as my only goal was to ensure that you are being genuine and will not hurt my son more than you already have, I hope you will be inclined to forgive me.”

Draco stands up and walks to the bar cart that is sitting behind his desk and pours out two glasses of Firewhisky. He hands one glass over to Albus and retakes his seat. Albus twirls the glass in his hands for a moment, watching the amber-coloured liquid swirl up the side of the glass and creep down in viscous veins. “That’s it, isn’t it? Why you’ve always seemed a little hostile to me? I always thought it was because of the whole history you have with my dad; I thought that you were just taking out your hatred of him on me. But that’s not it, is it? It’s because I’ve been hurting Scorpius.”

Albus can’t bring himself to look up, but when Mr Malfoy speaks again, his tone is softer, “I know it isn’t your fault, but I’ve known for years of Scorpius’ growing infatuation with you—you could say that I am intimately familiar with the signs—and it never seemed like you reciprocated any feelings for him beyond friendship. It was hard for me, seeing Scorpius pine after you like that, and I guess it was just easy to blame you for it. I’m sorry for that, as well. I thought I was better at hiding my feelings than that.”

“You were never rude or anything, Mr Malfoy. Just...reserved. You always seemed to like Rose much more than me, so I wanted to make sure that you wouldn’t hate me even more if Scorpius all of a sudden ended his “relationship” with Rose and started one with me. I didn’t want you to think that Scorpius had downgraded.” Albus takes a nervous sip of the Firewhisky and enjoys the slight burning sensation as it coats his throat.

“Miss Granger-Weasley has been a wonderful friend to my son over the years, and I hope she will continue to be, but,” Draco pauses and after a few seconds Albus looks up at him in confusion and he continues, “she’s never had his heart. As long as you always have my son’s best interests first and foremost, you will have my support.”

A rush of relief rushes through him and he shoots to his feet. Placing the glass hastily onto the desk’s blotter, Albus leans forwards and pulls a shocked Draco into an awkward hug, the table between them. “Thank you, Mr Malfoy! I can’t tell you how grateful I am for that. I promise that I will always put Scorpius first.”

After a few moments, Draco overcomes his shock and raises his arms to awkwardly pat Albus’ back, “That’s...fine, Albus. And...ugh, you may call me ‘Draco’, if you wish.”

Albus releases him and gives him a gleeful grin, “Thank you, Draco. If you could keep our conversation between us for now? I want to do something special for Scorpius. Something worthy of him.”

“Of course. Just don’t dilly-dally.,” Draco straightens his jacket and runs his fingers back through his hair, tidying imagined flyaways, obviously attempting to regain his composure.

“Don’t worry; I already have a plan,” Albus walks back toward the door leading to the hallway.

“Oh, and Albus?” Draco’s voice stops him mid-stride and he turns back towards the other man. “Just for the record, I don’t hate your father,” Draco is not looking at him and appears to be shuffling items around on his desk. “He just...irritated me. We were both just stupid children playing at being enemies.”

Albus’ eyebrows draw together in consideration, “You know he’s divorced now?”

“I read The Prophet, that information was pretty hard to miss. Your father could sneeze in public and it would make the front page,” Draco still isn’t looking at him and has picked up his quill once more and is dipping the tip carefully into the inkwell.

“And he’s gay now,” Albus tacks on impishly. The news gets the kind of reaction he was hoping for: Draco’s head shoots up as his hand goes shooting across the parchment, leaving a long streak of ink across the page. He can just barely hear Draco utter a muffled ‘Bugger!’ under his breath as he quickly retrieves his wand and starts syphoning off the offending ink. “I guess that news never made the front page.”

Albus steps out of the room and closes the door behind him with a very satisfied smile on his face.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to play around with some formatting for this fic and am using a CSS skin. I've decided to repeat lines of messages that have been exchanged so that it resembles how it would appear on a piece of paper. Sorry if this annoys you. :)

_December 25th, 2025_

Scorpius comes awake slowly. The thick curtains pulled tight around his four-poster are blocking out any light, so he isn’t sure what time it is. Feeling under his pillow, his fingers make contact with the smooth handle of his wand. He slips the pale length of beech wood—an exceptionally rare 15.5”—carefully out from under the pillow and casts a _Tempus_ charm above his head: 7:23 am. He has thirty-seven minutes until he is expected to be awake, showered, and downstairs in a presentable state for Christmas morning breakfast with his father and grandmother.

He casts a soft _Lumos_ charm and lies down on his back, propped up by the abundant, thick, silk-covered pillows on his bed. He runs his fingertips over the scratches carved into the smooth, round handle of the wand. Five rings, running up the handle of the wand, starting at the bottom, carved out by his own hand.

His old wand—the one that Delphini snapped in half five years ago during her bid to re-write the timeline and ensure her father, Voldemort’s success—had also had his own markings on it; in that case, he had been marking the passage of time, the number of years since the wand had chosen him in Ollivander’s and he had felt like a _true_ wizard. This wand’s markings mean something else entirely. Five rings. Five years since Scorpius has realized that he is in love with his best friend. Five years of having the person he craves more than any other as his best friend, but not having the courage to tell him that he wants more.

These last six weeks have been divine torture. Seeing Albus every day, living together, has been Scorpius’ dream come true and his living nightmare combined. The joy and contentment he gets from coming home after work and finding someone there, curious about how his day has been, has filled an emptiness in him that he didn’t know he had before this. And not just anyone, but Albus. The only person that he wants to come home to is him.

On the other hand, he thinks that if he sees Albus walking around in a towel one more time, he may lose all control of himself, leap onto Al, and frot against him until that infuriating towel falls away and leaves Al bare for his eyes to devour. Just the thought of finally getting to have his way with Al’s—based on the residual morning erections he’s caught a glimpse at—thick cock has Scorpius stifling a groan as his own morning erection jerks in interest.

He _Nox_ es the light on his wand tip and sets it aside, sliding down the bed so that he’s lying flat. He unbuttons the top of his silk pyjamas and pulls the soft, cool material aside to reveal his chest. His eyes droop closed as he gently pinches his nipples, teasing the little buds into hardness. With his eyes closed, he imagines it’s not his hands delivering the delicious lick of pain, but Albus’ strong fingers, pinching down harder and harder until Scorpius can feel the sensations translated through his body and into his groin.

His pyjamas are becoming wet with the leaking pre-come from his cock and he can feel the cool, sticky material rubbing against the sensitive head of his cock. Letting go of his erect nipples, Scorpius lifts his hips off of the bed and slides his bottoms down his thighs. Bypassing his cock entirely, he spreads his legs as far as the taut bottoms will allow, and reaches down between his legs and takes hold of his balls. He rolls the heavy testicles in his hand and pinches the seam of skin running down the middle of his sac, pinching it together gently and rubs his thumb and finger together, sliding the skin against itself.

Scorpius bends his legs, letting his knees prop the heavy covers up, as he shimmies the pyjama bottoms all the way off and spreads his feet, opening himself up even more. Grabbing his wand once more, he casts a _Lubrification_ charm onto the palm of his hand and then sets his wand aside once more. He rubs two fingers of his opposite hand into the slick wetness of his palm and coats them, making sure they are generously covered, and then he slides his hand down past his balls, rubbing briefly over his perineum, before sliding down further and slicking up the tight entrance to his body.

He teases himself, rotating his fingers around and around the wrinkled flesh, as he takes his turgid cock in his other hand and strokes ever-so-slowly up and down. He lets one finger breakthrough, imagining that it is Albus’ much thicker finger opening him up, getting him ready for his cock. Scorpius whimpers as his imagination kicks into overdrive—he can almost hear Albus’ low voice growling into his ear, telling him how beautiful he is, how tight he is, how amazing he’s going to feel wrapped around his cock as he fucks into him.

He slides a second finger in, enjoying the burning stretch that lights him up from the inside as he continues to stroke his cock, speeding up a little. He parts his fingers, stretching his arse even more, imagining it’s Albus’ cock stretching him tight. Curling his fingers, he presses on his prostate, just barely grazing the bundle of sensitive nerves with his fingertips. He presses his thumb firmly against his perineum, applying an external massaging pressure to his prostate that has his orgasm racing up on him.

He shortens his strokes, focusing his hand’s motion on the more sensitive tip of his cock as he races towards his completion. He can feel the tingling sensation at the base of his spine that means he’s only got moments left until he’s plunging over the edge and into oblivion. He imagines Albus’ commanding “ _Come for me, Scorp_ ” whispered against his ear and then he’s spilling, his torso jerking up in small spasms as his stomach and chest is coated in thick ropes of white semen.

He twitches again several times as he slowly withdraws his fingers from his body and then he relaxes back against the bed, letting the carefree bliss of the post-orgasmic state wash over him. Eventually, he pries his eyes open and turns his head to look at the _Tempus Charm_ that is still hovering in the air just above him: 7:42. He only has 18 minutes to shower and get ready. Sighing, he kicks off the covers, careful to not get any lube or cum on the bedding, and then he slides out of bed, hissing briefly as his bare feet touch the cold wooden floors until he manages to find his slippers and slide his feet into their protective warmth.

Scorpius walks briskly into the en-suite bathroom of his expansive Manor bedroom and hops into the shower. He speeds through his shower, washing away the evidence of his early activities with the festive, peppermint scented body wash that he prefers. The bright, cheerful smell, combined with the powerful spray of the shower, is chasing away the last dregs of sleepiness and his excitement for the day begins to mount. He’s never quite lost the childlike joy he feels on Christmas morning. He loves running down the stairs and seeing the tall, verdant tree loaded with lights and decorations and giving off a rich, woodsy scent of sap with the vast array of beautifully wrapped presents arranged underneath.

He towels himself dry and puts on a casual outfit of grey trousers and a creamy, white cashmere sweater, then combs his hair back. He should probably cast a Drying Charm on his hair, but his morning wank session has left him with only a few minutes and, on the whole, he thinks being on time with damp hair is probably still better than showing up late with a styled coif.

A few minutes later and Scorpius is jogging down the wide marble staircase and he comes to a stop as the formal sitting room slides into view. The sight of the enormous Christmas tree and the tangy smell of the sap is just as he imagined, and he can’t wait until breakfast is over and he gets to assuage his burning curiosity and find out what’s in all of those packages.

He continues down the stairs and proceeds down the hall to the family’s dining room. Rushing into the room, he takes his seat across from his father, with his grandmother seated at the head of the table. “Merry Christmas everyone!” he greets cheerfully.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” his grandmother reaches out and strokes her hand across his cheek. Her hand is beginning to show the signs of her age and though the skin has a crepey texture, it remains smooth to the touch thanks to the very expensive moisturizers that Narcissa uses. “It seems like just yesterday that you were a small boy sitting on my knee, and now look at you. Such a handsome young man you’ve become. I hope I live long enough to see the day that you find someone special and start a family of your own. I’d love to hold my great-grandchild on my lap on Christmas morning.”

Scorpius can feel his cheeks redden at his grandmother’s words. He’s never lied to his family about his sexual orientation _exactly,_ but he has also never explicitly told them that he’s gay either. He has just let them assume, like everyone else seems to, that he and Rose are dating rather than close friends. He knows that the Malfoys have always considered the continuation of the family bloodline to be of utmost significance, but he doesn’t think he could do what his father did and sacrifice his own desires to continue the family legacy. He knows that his father loved his mother in his own way, but he was old enough by the time she died to realize that their marriage was based on a platonic love, not a romantic one. Scorpius appreciates the sacrifice his father made, especially since he wouldn’t be here right now otherwise, but he knows that he also won’t be able to settle for anything short of passionate, romantic love.

Fortunately, his father diverts his grandmother’s focus from the pitter patter of little grandbabies, “Mother, he’s only 19. Let’s let the man sow a few wild oats first, shall we? Now, I think we should get our breakfast underway so that we can retire to the sitting room and start opening our presents. I’m dying to find out whether Santa Claus has brought me the new Mokeskin pouch that I asked for.”

Narcissa pulls her hand back from Scorpius, places the other one on her son’s hand where it rests on the table, and then gives Draco a fond smile. “I guess that depends whether you have been naughty or nice this year, dear.”

Draco sighs, “I wish Santa would devise a new classification system. This naughty or nice nonsense leaves me at a disadvantage. Being “nice” has never been in my wheelhouse, and being “naughty” is so much more fun.”

Scorpius lets out a loud burst of laughter and just then Poe pushes open the door leading to the kitchen, balancing three plates of China covered with highly-polished silver cloches. The elf places one plate in front of each of them and disappears back into the kitchen for a moment before reappearing with a silver coffee and tea service. Scorpius carefully removes the cloche covering his plate and his mouth waters at the delicious eggs benedict, artfully arranged on the gold-foil painted bone china place setting.

After the family has enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and consumed the requisite caffeine fix to feel fully human, they retire to the sitting room. Narcissa takes a seat on the fainting couch, reclining gracefully with her legs lifted and bent on the couch. Draco takes a seat on the Chesterfield, facing the fireplace, and crosses his legs neatly. Scorpius pulls up the ottoman and takes his traditional spot near the Christmas tree. It is his job to distribute the presents to the intended recipients. As is their tradition, each person opens one of their presents while the other two watch dutifully and praise the quality and beauty of the gift once it is revealed.

Narcissa is thrilled when she opens the box of macarons, shipped especially from her favourite bakery in France, composed entirely of her three favourite flavours: chocolate ganache, lemon drop, and lavender coconut. Draco jokes that apparently Santa has lowered his requirements for making the ‘nice’ list this year when he does, in fact, receive the Mokeskin pouch that he had requested. Scorpius can’t wait to get home and arrange his extensive chocolate frog card collection in the specially-made, leather-bound binder that he’s received to store them and ensure they aren’t damaged.

They continue opening presents for quite some time, until the massive pile has been exhausted and they’re left with three piles of treasured new belongings. Scorpius is flipping through the new book he’s received, the next installment in a series about a brave (and hunky) dragon-tamer (no doubt, a large source of the little crush that he has for Charlie Weasley), when his dad’s voice interrupts him, “I think you may have missed one, son.”

Scorpius looks around him in confusion and then follows his father’s gaze to see that there is, in fact, a present left unwrapped under the tree. He stares at it in confusion for a moment, because he is entirely certain that it was not there a few moments ago when he was handing out the last of the presents, which must have meant that it was sitting under a disillusionment charm that just wore off.

“Well, who is it for, darling?” his grandmother asks in a soft, encouraging tone.

Scorpius reaches out slowly and picks up the gift, surprised by its weight. The large box is wrapped in a soft grey paper that has a silver glitter pattern, and it has a satiny grey ribbon that says ‘Merry Christmas’ over and over wrapped around the four sides and secured with a simple bow. He picks up the gift tag and flips it over and reads it:

_To: Scorpius_

_From: A secret admirer_

“Don’t keep us in suspense,” his father calls out from the Chesterfield, where he’s sipping a cup of coffee out of a dainty china cup.

“It’s...um...well, it’s for me... _fromasecretadmirer_ ,” Scorpius mumbles.

“Don’t mumble, darling. It is rude,” his grandmother chastises him.

Scorpius clears his throat and says it again, “It’s for me. From a secret admirer, apparently.”

“Oh! How delightful!” Narcissa claps excitedly from the fainting couch. “Well. What are you waiting for? Open it!”

Scorpius unties the bow, subtly slips the gift tag into his pocket—he wants to keep it for his memory box—and then rips the wrapping paper off of it. As he lifts the lid off of the box, a folded paper bird flies out of the box, circles his head three times, and then flies up and perches on one of the branches of the tree, fluttering its thin, silver wings. It appears to be made out of the same glittering, silver wrapping paper that the gift came in, and it catches and reflects the soft white lights of the tree.

His attention is drawn away from the magical paper bird by a clacking noise coming from his lap and he turns back towards the box. Inside of the box is an old-fashioned mechanical typewriter. As he watches, the device comes to life, the round buttons depressing and shooting back up of their own volition.

“What in Circe’s name is that contraption?” Narcissa asks, craning her neck to try to get a look at the insides of the box.

“It’s a Muggle typewriter,” Scorpius answers, and at his grandmother’s confused frown, he elaborates, “they used to be used to write with, but without a quill.

“What on Earth would you need one of those silly things for?” she asks.

Scorpius wants to experiment with the strange device and figure out why anyone would send him the unexpected gift, but he doesn’t want to do that in front of his father and grandmother, so he stands up and starts gathering his gifts together, tucking the heavy typewriter under his arm. “I think I’ll take these things up to my room if that’s alright?”

His dad stands up and gives him a knowing smile, then gives him a big hug, “Merry Christmas, son. I love you very much.”

Scorpius whispers back, “I love you too, dad. Merry Christmas.”

Scorpius walks over to his grandmother as his father retakes his seat. He bends over and gives her a kiss, first on one cheek, and then on the other. “Merry Christmas, grandmother.”

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

Scorpius heads towards the door to the entryway and then turns back around when he hears the crinkling noise of paper. The paper bird has taken flight from the Christmas tree and is frantically flapping its silver wings, following after him. Scorpius holds out his hand and lets the little creation land on his finger, then transfers it to his shoulder, a big smile pasted across his face. As he’s turning back around, he just catches the happy—and relieved?—expression on his father’s face before he turns back to say something to Narcissa in a low tone that Scorpius can’t hear from across the wide room.

Scorpius climbs the stairs, careful not to move too fast that the paper bird is blown off of his shoulder, and makes his way to his room. He takes a moment to hang up his new clothes to ensure they don’t wrinkle, and then he climbs up onto the bed and sits cross-legged with the box in front of him.

He carefully transfers his paper bird—which he’s already named Volbien—to his bedside table, where it flies up and balances on the upper edge of his lamp. He’ll be sad when the magic wears off because the little papercraft has already charmed him.

He turns his attention back to the box and opens it up again. Reaching in, he lifts the heavy contraption out of the box, pushing it to the side, and sets it on the bed in front of him. He stares, flummoxed, at the device for a few moments, unsure how to work it. He can see a single line of text on the blindingly white paper:

Merry Christmas, Scorpius.

He’s not sure what to do, but he figures that his secret admirer must have given this to him for a reason, so he reaches out with one hand and he’s just about to depress one of the keys when the typewriter whirs to life, the paper rolling up in the front and the keys start up a dance of motion.

The typewriter has been spelled so that we can type messages to each other. Just type out any message you want to send me, and then push the chrome bar on the right to move down to the next line. Tap the typewriter once with your wand to send the message to me once you’re done.

An amused laugh bubbles up from Scorpius’ belly at the odd gift. He’s pretty sure that this thing is a relic even for the Muggles. Nervously, he reaches out with his right hand and slowly presses two of the keys with his index finger.

Merry Christmas, Scorpius.

hi

Scorpius tentatively pushes the chrome bar, as instructed, and the paper advances once more. He waits nervously for the response, half convinced that one of his friends is playing some sort of strange joke on him.

Merry Christmas, Scorpius.

hi

Has the kneazle got your tongue? Hi?? That’s all you’ve got to say? HI?? :)

Scorpius reads the message and then laughs to himself. Considering for a moment, he types out another message.

Merry Christmas, Scorpius.

hi

Has the kneazle got your tongue? Hi?? That’s all you’ve got to say? HI?? :)

Merry Christmas. :) This is a very odd gift. I’m hoping my secret admirer isn’t pushing 100 years old.

Scorpius waits for the response, chewing on his nail nervously—a habit that even his family’s obsession with good manners has been unable to break him of.

Merry Christmas, Scorpius.

hi

Has the kneazle got your tongue? Hi?? That’s all you’ve got to say? HI?? :)

Merry Christmas. :) This is a very odd gift. I’m hoping my secret admirer isn’t pushing 100 years old.

Haha. Don’t worry, I’m similarly aged to you. I considered getting you a Muggle mobile, but I thought this would have a bit more whimsy.

Scorpius types out ‘Who are you?’ and taps his wand, sending the message to his new pen pal. After a few moments, the response comes back, the keys clacking furiously as several lines of text show up on the paper.

Merry Christmas, Scorpius.

hi

Has the kneazle got your tongue? Hi?? That’s all you’ve got to say? HI?? :)

Merry Christmas. :) This is a very odd gift. I’m hoping my secret admirer isn’t pushing 100 years old.

Haha. Don’t worry, I’m similarly aged to you. I considered getting you a Muggle mobile, but I thought this would have a bit more whimsy.

Who are you?

If I told you that, I wouldn’t be much of a secret admirer, would I? ;)

I want you to feel comfortable to ask me anything you want here. I promise I will never lie to you. I may not be able to answer your question if it will betray my identity early, but I will be as open and honest with you as I can until it’s time to reveal myself.

This is the first of 12 gifts that, I hope, will show you how special I think you are and prove to you that I deserve a chance to earn your love.

Scorpius gasps at the bold declaration. He’s always been a sucker for a good romantic story, and this may just be the most romantic thing he could ever imagine happening to him. He’s burning with curiosity about who this could possibly be. For a brief moment, a fleeting hope that it’s Albus on the other side of these messages crosses his mind, but then his heart squeezes at the crushing disappointment. There’s no way this would be Albus. He’s very much straight, and Scorpius needs to take Rose’s advice and try to get over him. He thinks there will always be a part of his heart that will belong to the man that he’s considered his best friend since he was 11 years old, but he needs to do the healthy thing and try to find someone else that will love him, and not just as a friend.

Scorpius takes a deep, fortifying breath and huffs it out. He supposes he had better get one thing settled up front, before this progresses too far. Scorpius slowly plucks out his next message:

Merry Christmas, Scorpius.

hi

Has the kneazle got your tongue? Hi?? That’s all you’ve got to say? HI?? :)

Merry Christmas. :) This is a very odd gift. I’m hoping my secret admirer isn’t pushing 100 years old.

Haha. Don’t worry, I’m similarly aged to you. I considered getting you a Muggle mobile, but I thought this would have a bit more whimsy.

Who are you?

If I told you that, I wouldn’t be much of a secret admirer, would I? ;)

I want you to feel comfortable to ask me anything you want here. I promise I will never lie to you. I may not be able to answer your question if it will betray my identity early, but I will be as open and honest with you as I can until it’s time to reveal myself.

This is the first of 12 gifts that, I hope, will show you how special I think you are and prove to you that I deserve a chance to earn your love.

Are you a woman?

He sits there for a protracted moment of time, staring at the four simple words that will reveal so much more about himself than he’s ever told anyone else, with the exception of Rose. Before he can rethink it, he taps his wand on the device once, sending the message out into the ether. Blessedly, he only needs to wait a few seconds before the response comes back, almost as if his secret admirer knows how nervous he is.

Merry Christmas, Scorpius.

hi

Has the kneazle got your tongue? Hi?? That’s all you’ve got to say? HI?? :)

Merry Christmas. :) This is a very odd gift. I’m hoping my secret admirer isn’t pushing 100 years old.

Haha. Don’t worry, I’m similarly aged to you. I considered getting you a Muggle mobile, but I thought this would have a bit more whimsy.

Who are you?

If I told you that, I wouldn’t be much of a secret admirer, would I? ;)

I want you to feel comfortable to ask me anything you want here. I promise I will never lie to you. I may not be able to answer your question if it will betray my identity early, but I will be as open and honest with you as I can until it’s time to reveal myself.

This is the first of 12 gifts that, I hope, will show you how special I think you are and prove to you that I deserve a chance to earn your love.

Are you a woman?

I’m a man. I hope that’s okay?

A sigh of relief escapes him and he can feel his face split in a wide grin as he types his response. It's only a few moments before the next message pops up.

Merry Christmas, Scorpius.

hi

Has the kneazle got your tongue? Hi?? That’s all you’ve got to say? HI?? :)

Merry Christmas. :) This is a very odd gift. I’m hoping my secret admirer isn’t pushing 100 years old.

Haha. Don’t worry, I’m similarly aged to you. I considered getting you a Muggle mobile, but I thought this would have a bit more whimsy.

Who are you?

If I told you that, I wouldn’t be much of a secret admirer, would I? ;)

I want you to feel comfortable to ask me anything you want here. I promise I will never lie to you. I may not be able to answer your question if it will betray my identity early, but I will be as open and honest with you as I can until it’s time to reveal myself.

This is the first of 12 gifts that, I hope, will show you how special I think you are and prove to you that I deserve a chance to earn your love.

Are you a woman?

I’m a man. I hope that’s okay?

More than. :)

Good. So do you have any questions?

Scorpius snorts at the question. _Is he serious?!_

Merry Christmas, Scorpius.

hi

Has the kneazle got your tongue? Hi?? That’s all you’ve got to say? HI?? :)

Merry Christmas. :) This is a very odd gift. I’m hoping my secret admirer isn’t pushing 100 years old.

Haha. Don’t worry, I’m similarly aged to you. I considered getting you a Muggle mobile, but I thought this would have a bit more whimsy.

Who are you?

If I told you that, I wouldn’t be much of a secret admirer, would I? ;)

I want you to feel comfortable to ask me anything you want here. I promise I will never lie to you. I may not be able to answer your question if it will betray my identity early, but I will be as open and honest with you as I can until it’s time to reveal myself.

This is the first of 12 gifts that, I hope, will show you how special I think you are and prove to you that I deserve a chance to earn your love.

Are you a woman?

I’m a man. I hope that’s okay?

More than. :)

Good. So do you have any questions?

Only about a thousand. How much time do you have?

For you? All the time in the world.

Scorpius can feel a blush blooming on his ivory skin. He arranges the pillows against his headboard and leans back on them, resting the heavy, metal device on his lap and making himself as comfortable as possible. He’s going to be here for a while.


	6. Chapter 6

 

_December 26th, 2025_

 

Scorpius shot awake as his body was heaved off of the bed, airborne for a moment until he slammed back against the springy mattress. His heart is racing in his chest and he scrabbles for his wand, needing to instinctively protect himself. His arm shoots out, wand in hand, to face his attacker when he realizes that there’s no one standing by his bed. He looks around in confusion and then, if possible, his heart kicks it up a notch as he looks behind him to see Albus’ grinning face. Inches away from his. In his bed.

Albus merely laughs as Scorpius exhales a held breath and sinks back into his warm pillow. He keeps his back turned to the surprising-but-very-welcome visitor to his bed and grumbles to himself that he needs his beauty sleep.

“You’re positively gorgeous, Scorp. Beauty sleep is the last thing you need. Give the rest of us mere mortals a chance, at least,” Albus’ tone is light and joking and Scorpius rolls his eyes, but inwardly he thrills at the compliment, even if Albus doesn’t really mean it.

“Why are you in here?” Scorpius has to work to make his question sound disapproving.

“Because this is where you are, silly.” Albus shuffles closer to Scorpius, cuddling up to Scorpius’ back with the cover between them, tossing his arm casually over Scorpius’ waist. His head tilts back slightly when Albus lays his head down on Scorpius’ pillow. He can feel Albus’ hot breaths brushing against the nape of his neck, sending a wave of tingles coursing down his back. Confusion and lust are waging a war inside him.

Scorpius keeps his eyes clenched shut and clears his throat, “Okay. Um...Do we do this now? Do we cuddle in bed now?”

A snort of amusement whispers across his neck. “It would appear we do. Wow, your bed is so comfortable!” Scorpius can feel Albus shifting behind him and he expects him to pull away, but he doesn’t, instead settling in more firmly against him, his breathing levelling out as if he could fall asleep right here.

Scorpius doesn’t know what’s going on. Albus has very rarely come into his room, let alone made himself so...at home. Scorpius wishes with every bone in his body that he could turn around, Albus’ arm holding him tight, and brush his lips against the other man’s. Scorpius needs to end this odd moment before he loses control of himself and does something that he’ll regret. “Umm...Albus?” he asks tentatively.

“Mmmm,” is the only response he gets.

“Why are you in my room, exactly?” Scorpius’s voice sounds squeakier than he’d like, his nerves breaking through.

Albus pulls away, lifting his head from the pillow and Scorpius can sense him looking down at him, trying to get a look at his face. Scorpius does his best to make his expression placid. “Am I bothering you? Would you like me to leave, Scorp?”

“No, no. It’s not that. I was...I was just wondering, is all.”

“Good,” Scorpius can hear the relief in Albus’ tone. “Before I got distracted by how heavenly this bed is—seriously, Scorp, it’s like sleeping on a damn cloud! I don’t know why you ever get out of bed!—I came in here to ask you if you would go Boxing Day shopping with me.”

“You’re nuts! Why would you want to fight those crazy crowds?” Scorpius turns onto his back, looking up at Albus.

Albus shrugs. “I could use a new suit for work, and the sales will save me a pretty penny.”

“That’s fine, but why do you need me?”

“Are you kidding?! You know I’m hopeless when it comes to knowing what’s fashionable! If you don’t help me, you’ll have to live with your guilt every time you see me wearing the bogey-green, velour suit I’m sure to walk out of the store with without your help. Please, Scorp. Pleeeeeease.”

Albus pouts his lips and gives him a sad puppy dog face. Scorpius tries to maintain his strict composure, but it’s a lost cause, and within seconds he can feel his lips start to warble as he loses his battle with the smile that is fighting to break free. Albus’ face transforms, recognizing victory when he sees it, and Scorpius feels his stomach flutter at the sight.

“Fine, get out of here and let me take a shower and then we can go.” Scorpius gives Albus a friendly shove, pushing him back as he tosses the duvet off of himself and sits up, running his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair.

“Awesome, you’re the best, Scorp! And since you’re being so accommodating, you can have this.” Albus holds his hand out and there’s a small, black jewellery box resting on it.

“What is this? Did you get me another Christmas present?” Scorpius asks, confused. He and Al had exchanged gifts before they had both left for their respective families houses, and Al had given him tickets to a Wimbourne Wasps game in January.

“That depends if it’s any good,” Al gives him an impish grin. “Naw, this arrived this morning by owl. Poor little guy, I think he was even smaller than ol’ Pigwidgeon was. It’s a miracle he managed to stay aloft with this tied to his leg. Well? Go on! Take it.”

Albus thrusts the box closer to Scorpius, who reaches out and takes it. He cracks the box open with Albus craning over his shoulder, trying to get a look at the contents of the box. Inside of the box rests two cufflinks, made out of what looks like platinum. Scorpius reaches in and picks one of the cufflinks up, rotating it towards him to see that the face of the cufflink is engraved with his initials in an elaborate curving script.

An impressed whistle comes from over his shoulder. “Who got you those, Scorp? They look _expensive_!”

“It’s...they’re...well...it’s sort of a long story.” Scorpius replaces the cufflink in the box with its mate and closes the box up. He sets the box on his bedside table next to the paper bird, which he's unaccountably sad to see is now motionless. The origami animal has apparently fallen from its perch on his bedside lamp over the course of the night and is lying on its side on the table. Scorpius picks the little guy up and sets him upright on top of the cufflink box, a shy smile on his face.

He turns back around to find Al giving him a strange look, and he’s not sure he wants to get into the whole story of his secret admirer just now, so before Al can ask him about the mysterious gift and the little origami bird, he stands up and opens up his wardrobe, picking through his clothes to decide on what to wear out shopping today. “We’d better crack on if we want to beat the rush.”

Albus laughs, but Scorpius can hear him shuffling and standing up from his bed. “Fine, you don’t have to tell me now, but I will get the truth out of you, Scorp. Mark my words! I am a force to be reckoned with when I set my mind on something.” Scorpius turns around to see Albus give him a cheeky wink before he disappears around the doorframe and down the hallway towards his room.

Scorpius sighs, takes one last look at the little bird, and then heads into his bathroom to take a nice cold shower. He hopes Al doesn’t make a habit of crawling into bed with him to wake him up—he really hates cold showers.

★★★

“How’s this one?”

Albus throws open the curtain to the changing room, walks out, and stands in front of Scorpius, his arms held out to the side. Scorpius inspects the outfit from the front and then gestures for Albus to turn around. He does a half-decent impression of a runway model pirouetting at the end of a catwalk and Scorpius laughs. They have been here for about thirty minutes now and none of the suits that Albus has tried on yet have suited him, but it looks like they have finally found the perfect one.

“Oh, that looks fabulous on you!”

The two men turn startled gazes on the sales associate, who has just entered the fitting room area behind them. Scorpius watches as the blonde woman’s eyes crawl down Albus’ body, snagging on his arse, which Scorpius has to admit looks good enough to eat in the trousers that seem to have been made specifically for Albus’ pert, round cheeks. Scorpius feels a flare of jealousy as the uncouth woman licks her lips, her thoughts no doubt following a similar track to Scorpius’.

“Could you get us some more colour options for the shirt. Green. French cut. Thank you.” Scorpius sends the woman off to fetch them more items—and to keep her lascivious look to herself.

Albus laughs and Scorpius turns around to see him watching him in the mirror. “Well, she certainly seems to like the cut of the pants, but what about you?” Albus lifts the bottom of the suit jacket up and sticks his butt out slightly, looking over his shoulder at Scorpius and giving him a mock flirtatious look. “Do you like how my butt looks in these pants?” Albus flutters his eyes coquettishly.

Scorpius sits there gaping, completely thrown off guard by Albus’ question. After a few seconds Al takes pity on him; laughing, he straightens the jacket and turns back toward the mirror, inspecting his reflection. “Relax, Scorp. I was only kidding.” Al stretches his arms out in front of him, testing the fit of the jacket. “Obviously my arse is to-die-for in these trousers.” Albus has a wide grin on his face and laughs once again.

Scorpius pastes a smile on his face, hoping that it is good enough to hide how nervous he’s feeling. Just then, the saleslady returns with several shirt options and sashays over to Albus. “I brought you a few options, but I think this one...” the brazen woman pulls out one of the shirts, grass green with a subtle iridescence woven through it, and holds it out in her other hand, holding it up against Albus’ chest. “Oh yes, that’s definitely the one. You should see how this one makes your eyes pop.”

Scorpius can’t stop himself and rolls his eyes at the woman’s shameless flirting. _How rude!_ Sure, Albus and he are only friends, but _she_ doesn’t know that! For all she knows, they could be dating, and here she is practically drooling all over him.

Albus gives the woman a friendly smile, and takes the shirt from her, leaning back slightly. “Thanks, we really appreciate your help. I’ll just give these a try.”

The woman lingers for a moment and there’s an awkward silence as Albus patiently waits for her to leave and Scorpius scowls at her back. Finally, the woman seems to catch the hint. “Okay, well if you need anything—anything at all—just let me know.” The woman gives Albus a lingering look and he simply nods at her, behaving as if he’s somehow ignorant of the full-frontal flirt attack that is being fired at him right now. Appearing disappointed, the woman finally takes her cue to leave and exits the fitting room. Scorpius rolls his eyes once more.

“Is something wrong, Scorp?” Albus asks with a mischievous grin on his face.

Scorpius tries to rein in the ugly, green-eyed monster that is thrashing around inside him right now. “Once you’re ready to start dating again, looks like she’d be more than happy to go out with you. You should get her number. She’s right though; that shirt is the perfect colour for you.”

Albus frowns slightly and then turns around, holding the shirt up to himself in the mirror. He hangs the shirt up on one of the hangers and then slides the jacket off, hanging it up as well, before he unbuttons the navy shirt he’s currently wearing. Scorpius watches intently as Albus pulls the shirt off and his bare chest becomes visible in the mirror. Albus isn’t stacked with muscles, but he has wide shoulders and Scorpius can see the trim muscles stretch and contract as he slides the green shirt up over his shoulders. The thick, manly chest hair that makes Scorpius want to pet his chest and wrap the strands around his fingers as he lies curled up to Albus’ side, slowly disappears from sight as Albus buttons up the soft green shirt.

“Yeah, you’re right. This shirt definitely does look good on me.” Albus tucks the shirt into the trousers and puts the jacket back on, inspecting the entire outfit once more. “I think we’ve done it Scorp! We’ve found me the perfect new outfit. Now let’s pay for this and go get something to eat. I’m starving!”

Albus retreats back into the fitting room and pulls the curtain closed. Scorpius can hear him shuffling around in there—stripping—and he forces his brain away from the mental image it wants to linger on. “So...are you going to ask her?”

“Ask who?” Albus asks, sounding distracted.

“The overzealous salesgirl,” Scorpius says. When he’s greeted with nothing but silence, he elaborates more, “Are you going to ask for her number? For when you’re ready to start dating again?”

“Oh, naw, I’m not.”

“Why not?” Scorpius is burning with curiosity. He may be a gay man, but even he can admit that the woman is an attractive specimen.

“Well…I’m kind of already interested in someone else, actually.”

Scorpius’s eyebrows shoot up; this is news to him. Scorpius scrapes through his memories from the last few weeks, trying to recall if Al has mentioned he has his eyes on a new girl, but he comes up blank. “Really? Who is she?” Scorpius tries to sound casual, as if every nerve in his body isn’t on edge waiting for Albus’ answer.

A nervous laugh comes from the other side of the curtain. “If it’s okay, I’d like to keep that to myself for now?”

“Oh yes, sure, of course. No problem. Doesn’t matter to me,” Scorpius rushes to assure Al that it’s no big deal and that he’s not sitting here, stewing in a cauldron of bubbling curiosity.

“Thanks, Scorp. I’ll be sure to tell you who it is just as soon as I can.” Albus yanks open the curtains and emerges once more, back in his own clothes. “Now, I’m going to go pay for this lot,” Albus holds up his arm, which is draped with the suit and the soft green shirt, “and then I’m going to take you out for lunch as a thank you for your help.” Albus grins at him and then walks out of the fitting room and towards the till. Scorpius sighs and follows after him.

★★★

Scorpius watches, amused, as Albus attempts to take a bite and the juices from the fully loaded burger squeeze out of the giant sandwich and form a trail down his hand to his wrist. Albus sets the messy burger back down on his plate and bends his arm around, licking the juice off his skin. Scorpius smirks as he turns his attention back towards his own plate, a pan-roasted Cornish plaice with a sweet Riesling emulsion and a side of steamed vegetables.

 _Maybe it’s a good thing that my crush on Albus will remain unrequited_ , Scorpius finds himself thinking, _because one look at his table manners would be enough to give grandmother a heart attack._ He can’t help but laugh at the thought—trying to imagine Albus in the formal Malfoy dining room, licking his fingers clean while grandma Narcissa looks on in abject horror—and Albus looks up at him with a puzzled look on his face. Scorpius shakes his head, not wanting to explain what has tickled him, and then he meticulously places a bite of steamed broccoli into his mouth.

They finish their meal, not really talking, but enjoying the companionable silence. There are very few people that Scorpius feels comfortable just sitting quietly with; he often feels compelled to fill the empty silences with whatever chatter pops into his head, but with Al, they’ve known each other so long that the silences resound with the memories of their history together, and Scorpius feels like he can just relax.

Al finishes his burger and wipes his hands on the red cloth napkin. “So. Scorpius. Who is sending you expensive men’s fashion accessories?” He leans back in the red banquette seating and takes a long pull of his ale.

Scorpius picks up his fork and pushes a stray pea around his plate, contemplating whether he can somehow avoid this whole conversation. But no, there’s no chance of that happening—Albus is like a dog with a bone, there’s no getting out of this now that he’s caught the scent of something interesting. “Apparently I have a secret admirer.”

Scorpius can feel his face heat up as Albus’ face breaks into a shit-eating grin. “A secret admirer? And what does Rose think about this development?”

 _Shit!_ Scorpius hadn’t thought through the implications of all of this and how he would have to explain to Al that: _No really, the girl that you assume is my girlfriend is really totally going to be fine with this because she is not, in fact, my girlfriend, and, actually, I’m really only interested in a good, thorough buggering._

Scorpius buys some time by swirling his glass of pinot grigio and taking a sip, letting the cool liquid swirl over his tongue a moment before he swallows. “Well, I haven’t actually told Rose about it. I think she will find it quite amusing though.”

Scorpius feels a stab of guilt as the half-truth slips past his lips. It is true that Rose is going to find this whole scenario hilarious, and he’s confident that she will delight in teasing him about it, but he wishes once again that he could just work up the courage to come out to Albus. This is the only secret that he has kept from Albus—well, and that he thinks Albus may be his one true love.

Albus watches him considering for a moment, and then nods, “Yeah, I suppose that’s true. She will probably love watching you get all flustered and embarrassed.” Albus laughs, “I remember how when we all used to double date on Hogsmeade weekends and she used to cackle with laughter whenever that overzealous Creevey girl in the year below us used to follow you around and try to catch you in a _Liplock_ jinx.”

Scorpius shudders, “Don’t remind me.” Colleen had pursued him for the better part of an entire school year until Rose had finally taken pity on him and had a chat with her about the importance of consent and how it wasn’t on to just jinx someone into kissing you.

“So tell me all about this secret admirer of yours. What do you know so far? Any ideas of who it could be?” Albus leans forward and rests his chin in his hands, elbows resting on the table, an expression of avid interest on his face.

Scorpius puts on a mock-serious face, “If I knew who it was, it would hardly be a _secret_ admirer, Al.”

Albus laughs, “Good point. So you don’t know anything about them then?”

Scorpius smirks, “I didn't say _that.”_

They finish off their current round of drinks and order another as Scorpius tells Al all about the origami bird, the enchanted typewriter, and the promised twelve days of gifts, while leaving out the details about his admirer’s gender.

“Oh, I get it. It’s like that Muggle Christmas song!” At Scorpius’ confused expression, Albus explains the reference, “I don’t remember all of the verses, but I know it features a partridge in a pear tree. You got a paper bird in a Christmas tree. That’s very romantic; you’re a lucky man.”

Scorpius makes a mental note to himself to look up this Muggle song, but if Albus is right, then he can’t help but agree. He’s not sure his heart will be able to resist this mystery suitor by the end of these next eleven days.


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

_December 27th, 2025_

 

“Malfoy! Get in here right now!”

Scorpius jumps at the guttural growl of his boss, Bograsp. Scorpius has worked at Gringotts since he graduated from Hogwarts. The Goblin-run bank very rarely hires witches and wizards but made an exception for Scorpius, which, he suspects, was likely because his father probably threatened to withdraw the entirety of the Malfoy family's substantial vaults and take their business elsewhere. Even though he has been employed at Gringotts for a year and a half, he is still discomfited by Bograsp's gruff demeanour and frequent shouting. Although Scorpius knows that he must be doing a reasonably good job—Goblins do not suffer fools, regardless of who their fathers may be—the goblin has never once given him a word of encouragement, which leaves Scorpius in a perpetual state of nervousness and desperation to go above and beyond to prove his worth.

When he had told Albus that he had to come into the office today, despite it being a Saturday, Albus had been disappointed because he had thought that they should go see an afternoon showing of the new Jurassic Planet movie. And in this new reboot, they are repeating the same mistakes that have led to chaos and destruction as the Park and World instalments, only this time in space! Dinosaurs in space! Scorpius had seriously considered wagging off work, but his responsible side got the better of him and he'd reluctantly told Al that they would have to go see the movie some other time. Scorpius would certainly rather be there, watching the newest instalment of one of his favourite movie franchises with Albus and sharing a large, butter-soaked tub of salty popcorn, than locked away underground with only a surly goblin for company.

“Yes, sir. Coming, sir.” Scorpius scrambles to find an empty sheet of parchment and a self-inking quill and quietly lets himself into the inner office.

“About time. I have a meeting with the Minister for Magic at 2 in the conference room on sub-2b and I need you to be there to take notes. And go get some food for the meeting. You wizards always seem to be stuffing your gullet with something or other. Take some money out of the petty cash, but don't go overboard. I will expect receipts.”

Bograsp dismisses him with a wave of his hand and drops his attention back to the large table of accounts he's been poring over. Scorpius slips quietly back out into his reception area, pulls the small pouch of coins out of the bottom drawer of his desk, puts on his militaristic, black cloak with built-in warming charms (a Christmas present from his dad), and leaves the bank, slipping into the cheerful crowds of Saturday shoppers bustling up and down Diagon Alley.

Scorpius picks up an assortment of crudités and a small plate of various desserts from the deli and makes his way back to Gringotts, carefully balancing his haul as he weaves his way around window shoppers crowding the street. He makes it back to the bank just before noon and walks into the office to find his father sitting in his chair and inspecting his nail beds.

“Oh, hello. Did we have plans that I forgot about?” Scorpius moves to place the platters on his desk but stutters to a halt when he notices that there seems to be a glass case of some kind on his blotter. Changing course, he sets the trays down on top of his filing cabinet and places a _Frigus_ charm on them before turning back to his father.

“Not at all. I merely thought that I would swing by and see whether I could take my beloved scion out for lunch.”

“What is that?” Scorpius asks, pointing at the glass box on his desk. As he moves towards his desk, bending over so that he can see better, he thinks he can see something miniscule moving around in there.

“No idea. This may prove informative, however,” Draco slides a white envelope out from under one corner of the glass box and inspects the front, one eyebrow rising in a look of intrigue. “It seems that this is a gift from your ‘Secret Admirer.’”

Scorpius scrambles over the desk and yanks the envelope out of his father's hand, whose mouth hooks up into a shrewd smirk. “We can discuss this latest development in your love life over lunch.” Draco pushes lithely up from the chair and pulls a pair of leather gloves out from the inner pocket of his cloak and dons them.

“Dad, I really don—” Scorpius attempts to decline the offer because he really should make sure that he’s available in case Bograsp needs anything in preparation for their meeting with the Minister, but Draco cuts him off.

“You really don’t want to make your dear father eat alone? I thought not.” At Scorpius’ nervous look at his boss’ office door, Draco sighs, “I promise I will have you back here within the hour. As much as they would like to ignore them, the Goblin overlords of this establishment are still bound by labour laws.” Draco strides around the desk and over to the door. He opens it and then holds it open, looking expectantly at Scorpius with a determined look on his face.

Scorpius knows better than to protest; when his father sets his mind on something, there’s no arguing with him. He casts one last nervous glance at Bograsp’s door, then hurries over to the desk and scrawls out a quick note explaining where he’s gone and when he will be back, then leaves it propped up on top of the glass box. Reconsidering, he picks up the note and casts a hasty _Reducio_ charm on the glass box before placing it carefully inside the top drawer of the filing cabinet and locking it, then replaces the note on his blotter, dead centre.

As he turns around, he just catches the tail end of an eye roll as his father clucks his tongue. Scorpius gives him a nervous look and his father’s face warms into a fond smile before he gestures Scorpius to lead the way out of the office.

They quickly make their way down the street in the direction of the Snacking Shack, the crowds seeming to part for his father as if he’s a prow of a ship cutting his way through the ocean of humanity. Scorpius has always admired his father’s ability to project confidence and authority, and how people seem to instinctively want to listen to him. He wishes he had inherited even a small fraction of that self-confidence. Maybe then he wouldn’t be terrified to tell someone other than Rose that he is gay. He doubts he would have even mustered up the courage to tell Rose if it hadn’t been painfully obvious during their two attempted makeout sessions that neither one of them had any interest in the whole thing.

They order their sandwiches—ham, brie, and apple for his father and a tomato, mozzarella, and arugula for himself—and make their way over to a small park area on the quiet end of Diagon Alley, sitting on a bench and watching the plump diricawls waddling around the small pond. Scorpius rips off little pieces of his sandwich and tosses them on the grass just in front of him and watches as one of the little birds inspects him, interested, and then vanishes into thin air. The fat bird pops into existence near his feet for a few seconds, just long enough to snatch up the sandwich offering, and then disappears once more, reappearing at a safe distance.

Draco watches, amused, for a few minutes and then he wraps up the remainder of his sandwich and turns his focused stare on Scorpius. “Are you ready to tell me about your secret admirer yet?”

Scorpius sighs and then faces the inevitable. Shrugging, he hedges, hoping he can skirt around the conversation without getting into too many details, “There’s not really much to tell. I don’t know who it is. So far they’ve given me a Muggle typewriter and a pair of cufflinks. And apparently a glass box.”

“Are those the cufflinks?” Draco asks, indicating the platinum cufflink that is poking out of the end of Scorpius’ robe arms.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Scorpius holds his arm out for his dad to inspect it, and he grabs ahold of Scorpius’ wrist and pushes the robe up so that he has a better view. He leans closer, inspecting the engraving, before releasing Scorpius’ wrist and nodding.

“Well, at least you know he has excellent taste. Those look like platinum and the engraving is exquisite.”

Scorpius nods his head in agreement and then Draco’s words register with him and he turns towards him frantically. “You said ‘he.’”

Draco simply nods, “I did.”

Scorpius stares at him for a moment, inspecting his face and looking for signs of shock or revulsion or disappointment, but his father’s face is relaxed and open. Scorpius opens his mouth to say something but finds that he can’t find the words and closes it again. His father smiles kindly at him and reaches out and places his hand on Scorpius’s shoulder, squeezing gently, “Scorpius, I hope that I’ve never given you the impression that my love is conditional on anything. It matters not a whit to me whether you are straight, gay, bisexual, or are only sexually aroused by people dressed up as furry animals.”

Scorpius stares at his father, torn between overwhelming relief and gratitude and horror that he knows what “furries” are. Draco laughs at his expression and Scorpius finds himself grinning back, settling on relief that he’s come out to his father. Although he supposes that technically his father came out for him, but he’s not going to quibble.

But then another thought occurs to him, “What about grandmother? How is she going to take the news?” His stomach flips with nerves. His grandmother has been talking about the day that he would give her grandbabies since he turned 17 and came of age. He doesn’t think she’s going to be quite so quick to accept that he will never be marrying a respectable witch and settling down to pop out a few sprogs. “Do you think she’s going to be disappointed about ‘the end of the Malfoy line’?”

Draco turns his head and watches the diricawls for a moment, thinking, before he replies, “I loved your mother, Scorpius, and I will never regret marrying her because that gave me you, and you’re the absolute best thing that I have ever done with my life.” Draco clears his throat and continues, “But I was never _in love_ with her. I agreed to the marriage because I felt like it was what was expected of me—that I had to carry on the Malfoy line, no matter the cost.”

Draco turns back to his son with an intense, focused expression, “I don’t want that kind of life for you, Scorp. I want you to have everything you could ever want. I want you to be yourself and be happy and be proud. And I want you to be with someone that makes your heart race and who loves you so much that the idea of living without you in their life is unbearable. You deserve all of that.”

Scorpius whispers, choking up a bit, “Thanks, Dad.”

“The world has enough Malfoys, but it could always use more good faith.” Draco gives him a warm smile, and Scorpius hesitates for a moment—their family has never been big on physical affection, but if this isn’t the time for it, what is?—and then he slides closer on the bench and wraps his arms around his dad’s middle, resting his head against his shoulder. There’s a moment of stunned inaction, and then his dad is wrapping his arms around Scorpius and returning the hug, resting his chin against Scorpius’ hair.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, Scorp.”

They sit there for a few minutes, the diricawls disappearing and reappearing as they hold each other in this rare embrace, and then Draco clears his throat and they part. “This has been a very productive lunch, but now I’d best get you back to work before that curmudgeon that you work for accuses you of being a loafer.”

Scorpius chuckles softly at his dad’s reinstated decorous comportment as they both stand up and make their way back in the direction of the bank. His dad parts ways with him at the base of the stairs leading up to the entrance with a quick clap on the back, and as he climbs the stairs and enters the building, he feels as if one of the large weights has been lifted from his shoulders.

When Scorpius gets back to his desk, he casts a quick glance at his boss’s door, and then he slips the note out of his cloak pocket. Cracking the green wax seal on the envelope, he slides the note out to find that it appears to have been typed up on a typewriter:

 

I hope you liked your two cufflinks from yesterday. I thought that you would appreciate the fusion of beauty and function.

 

This present contains neither of those two redeeming qualities. I merely thought you would find it amusing, and I would gladly walk around in the buff if I knew it would paint one of those gorgeous smiles on your face. That flaming orb in the sky pales in comparison to the light that is emitted by your smile.

 

Love,

Your Secret Admirer

XOXOX

 

P.S. A well-placed _Amplio Fabula_ may come in handy ;)

 

Scorpius sets the letter aside and inspects the glass. There definitely appears to be flecks of something moving within the glass. Removing his wand, he casts the charm and is delighted when a foot-square screen flickers into life above the glass box as if the box is projecting an image.

He sits watching, captivated, as tiny crab-like creatures scamper around 3 concentric rings. Eight of the little creatures have been fastened into a harness and are pulling a sparkling golden chariot behind them as they circle the centre ring, another of the little creatures resting inside the chariot and what looks to be a tiny, white toga, with a laurel wreath fastened to its shell.

Scorpius moves his wand to the right and the image pans over to the corresponding circle to show an obstacle course of hoops and bars levitating magically as the little creatures jump through and over them, chasing after each other.

Enchanted, he moves the tip of his wand back over past the middle ring and to the far left, to watch two of the little creatures dressed as gladiators, with a bright red fringe of material sticking up in a stripe down their shell, circling each other with their pincers raised. He watches them circle each other for several minutes, intermittently leaping forward and then retreating back until one of the little creatures sees his opening and manages to grab ahold of the other’s pincer and flip him over.

“What is this nonsense?”

Scorpius has been so engrossed in the enchanting circus-in-miniature that he did not even hear Bograsp’s door open or his approach. “It’s nothing, Sir. Just a little novelty.”

“This institution is not paying you to fritter away time on such nonsense.”

“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir,” He breaks off the charm and hastily shrinks down the glass box, slipping it into the top door of his desk.

“Hurry up or we’ll be late.” Bograsp strides past him and Scorpius scrambles to find a blank roll of parchment and a quill and follows him out into the hallway.

★★★

Scorpius runs to catch the lift and manages to slide in just as the doors start to close.

“Hello Scorpius, dear”

He smiles at the little old lady from 3D that is the only other occupant of the lift. “Good evening, Mrs Rafferty. How are you today?”

“Old age is no place for numpties. How are things going with that delicious young man of yours?”

For a minute Scorpius thinks she must be talking about his secret admirer and he wonders how she could possibly know about that, and then he realizes what she means. “Albus is just my friend and a temporary roommate, Mrs Rafferty. There’s nothing “going”. I’ll be sure to tell him that you think he’s delicious though.”

Scorpius grins mischievously at the elderly woman and she smiles back. “If you say so, dear. But let me tell you, if I was a few years younger, you’d have some competition for that boy, that’s for sure. I’ve always had a soft spot for those messy mops of hair that looks like they’ve just had a very satisfying romp in the hay.”

He stands there in shock, unable to formulate a response to that last comment, as the feisty old lady exits the lift. He laughs as he hears her hearty chuckle disappearing down the hallway. He’s never quite sure what is going to come out of that woman’s mouth, but he hopes he’s even half that interesting to talk to when he’s her age.

Scorpius lets himself into the apartment and breathes a sigh of relief. The meeting with the Minister for Magic had gone nearly an hour long, and after that Bograsp had demanded that he track down the vault access logs going back to 1626 for...Scorpius had no idea why, actually. He’s found that sometimes it’s just easier to acquiesce to the outlandish-sounding requests than to try to wrap his head around the Goblin reasoning behind them.

“Scorp? Is that you?” Albus’ voice drifts out to him from the direction of the kitchen.

Scorpius unravels the extra-long, thin scarf from around his neck and hangs it and his cloak up in the hall closet before he makes his way over to the kitchen. “Who else would it be? Are you expecting a hot date or something? Is that why you’re cooking?”

Albus stands up from where he is bent over, inspecting the contents of the stove through the window. “Perfect timing. These are just about done.” Albus pulls out two soft, moist dinner rolls from a package of them and cuts into each, spreading a thin layer of butter on each half and placing one each on two plates that are sitting on the counter. “And no, I’m not expecting anyone else. Only you.”

Albus slides on an oven glove and then pulls open the door, removing the cast-iron skillet from the oven and the kitchen fills with the mouth-watering smell of steak. Scorpius walks over and distributes the steamed broccoli that is sitting in a pot on the stovetop evenly between the two plates. “Too bad. It’s been a while since you’ve had a hot date,” Scorpius jokes, ignoring the spasm of jealousy that strikes him.

“I never said I didn’t have a hot date,” Albus elbows him gently in the ribs and winks at him and Scorpius jolts at the casual innuendo. If he didn't know better, he would think that Al is flirting with him. He must be losing the plot because there’s no way that is what is happening. His desperation must be turning into delusion. “Budge over, Scorp.” Scorpius hurries to move out of the way so that Albus can place the hot steaks onto the plates, and top them with fried mushrooms from the frying pan on one of the other burners.

They each grab a plate and Scorpius starts heading to the living room to plonk down in front of the TV, as is their usual routine, when Albus clears his throat. “I thought maybe we could eat at the dining table tonight?” Al asks, sounding nervous for some reason.

Scorpius stands there inspecting his best friend for long moments, trying to figure out why he’s acting so weird. Al starts to rescind the request, but Scorpius stops him, “No. Let’s eat at the dining table. I think that sounds like a great idea. We probably shouldn’t eat like zombies in front of the TV every night anyway.”

Albus gives him a grateful grin and they walk into the small dining area. It definitely doesn’t have the grandeur and elegance of the Malfoy formal dining room, but the large windows have been enchanted to provide a stunning view of the setting sunset, rather than the building across the road that they should actually be observing and Scorpius takes a moment to appreciate the rich oranges, purples, and reds that look like the sky has been placed there by a generous stroke of a paint knife. “What a gorgeous view.”

“I thought it would be nice,” Albus shrugs his shoulders and looks away quickly, embarrassed. “It’s only temporary.”

“Then we’d best enjoy it while we can,” Scorpius replies, cheerily, taking a seat at the table, which he notices has two glasses of red wine already laid out. “Wine? Really”

“What? You like wine,” Albus looks up at him, a look of confusion and uncertainty flitting across his face.

“Yes, but you don’t,” Scorpius responds.

“I don’t dislike wine, I just would usually choose an ale. But I thought since red wine goes well with steak, and you like it, that I could go out of my comfort zone a little,” Albus shrugs again.

Scorpius reaches out and picks up the bottle, inspecting the label. “Ooo, a Malbec. Excellent choice. The rich, earthy flavour should go perfectly with the steak. You chose well, Al.”

Albus laughs briefly, “Well thank you, but I can’t really take the credit. I asked the guy at the store what wine to get and he said this was a good choice.”

Setting the bottle back down on the table, Scorpius picks up his glass and swirls it around, breathing in the full-bodied aroma. “Wise men don’t need advice and fools won’t take it.”

Albus’ eyes draw together for a moment as he teases out the meaning in Scorpius’ words and then he snorts, “I’ll take that complisult, Scorp.”

Scorpius laughs and lifts his glass, holding it out across the table to Al. “To good friends, good wine, and good faith,” a faint smile pulls at Scorpius’ lips and his gaze drifts over Al’s shoulder as he recalls the conversation with his dad. He moves to clink his glass with Albus’, but is met with nothing but empty air.

“What are you doing?!” Albus asks him in a tone of mock outrage, and Scorpius draws his gaze back to him in confusion. “You have to make eye contact when you clink glasses, or you’ll be cursed to seven years of bad sex!”

Scorpius laughs at Albus’ tone of mock horror and then focuses a steady gaze on him as the two reach out once more and gently tap their glasses together. _Then again, why risk it?_


	8. Chapter 8

 

_December 28th, 2025_

 

Scorpius wakes up to a tickling sensation on his nose. Without opening his eyes, he smacks away the irritating feeling and tries to go back to sleep. Seconds later the feeling is back and he smacks it away again, eyebrows drawn together in frustration. When the tickle comes back once more, he tosses himself onto his back and over onto his other side, hoping that the pesky thing takes a hint. The reprieve is short and then the soft barely-there feeling returns and Scorpius huffs and pulls his duvet over his head. A loud laugh comes from beside his bed and Scorpius’ eyes shoot open. He slowly lowers the covers to find Albus kneeling beside his bed, laughing at him.

“You’re really not a morning person, are you?” Albus’ eyes are crinkled in the corner and alight with his amusement.

He’s not wrong; Scorpius is not a morning person under the best of circumstances, but seeing as how he stayed up until after 3 am last night exchanging messages with his secret admirer, he’s even more in need of sleep than usual. After dinner, he and Al had watched a few more episodes of Community together, and then he had excused himself, saying that he was tired. He had been anxious to ask his secret admirer where on Earth he had come up with the idea for a 3-ring chizpurfle circus for half the day. They had ended up typing messages back and forth until the wee hours of the morning. His secret admirer is turning out to be clever and funny and they seemed to share a lot of the same interests, though they had both agreed to disagree on which of the Fellowship is sexier: Aragorn (him) or Legolas (his secret admirer).

“It’s Sunday, it’s supposed to be a day of rest, you know.” Scorpius huffs out a breath and then pushes himself up to rest against the headboard. “Why are you waking me up, yet again? I’m going to need to start putting a _Colloportus_ on my door at night.”

Albus laughs again at his grumpy complaining. “It’s up to you, but if you do that then I won’t be able to bring you breakfast in bed anymore.” As he is talking, Albus picks up and lifts a wooden tray from the floor and places it over Scorpius’ lap. The tray is laden with a heavy plate filled with a full English. The salty smell of the bacon is amazing and Scorpius can hear his stomach roil with a borborygmus. Albus has brought him a mug of tea as well as a glass of orange juice, and a small vase with a single, iridescent peacock feather explains the tickling sensation that rudely awoke him.

“What’s the occasion?” Scorpius asks, picking up his utensils and carefully placing one of sunny side up eggs onto a slice of toast.

“You’ve been so great about letting me stay here with you and I wanted to do something nice for you.”

To be honest, Scorpius has almost forgotten that Albus didn’t just always live here. It has been so nice to have someone else rattling around the apartment, giving it life. Coming home to have someone to talk to about his day. It’s been anything but a burden. “I’ve loved having you here Al, you don’t need to thank me.” Al gives him a mischievous look and reaches to take back the tray, so Scorpius clings onto it, “But since this is already made and everything, it would be a shame to waste it.”

Albus laughs at him and relinquishes his grip on the tray. Scorpius takes a big bite of the toast and eggs, licking up the trail of yolk that slides down his lips as Albus watches him intently. Embarrassed at the attention, Scorpius clears his throat, “Didn’t you make some for yourself?”

Albus seems to shake himself and the intense look on his face morphs into a relaxed, easy expression. “Of course, I was just waiting for an invitation.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were waiting for a formal invitation. Albus, would you please join me for breakfast?”

Albus gives him a wide grin and then he gets up and walks towards the door. Scorpius is confused, wondering if he’s said something wrong, but then Albus bends over and picks something up that is resting just around the side of the door frame. Standing up, Albus turns around and walks over to the vacant right side of the bed. Setting the tray down on the bedside table, Albus crawls under the covers and settles himself opposite Scorpius against the headboard, then places the tray over his own lap. Al’s tray has all of the same contents, with one exception.

“What? No peacock feather?” he asks jokingly.

To his surprise, Al looks almost embarrassed. “No, that’s just for you.”

Scorpius isn’t quite sure what’s happening, but Al definitely looks uncomfortable. Wanting to lighten the mood, he plucks the feather out of the little white vase and hooks it behind his ear, brushing his hair back and letting the feather stand tall and tickle the side of his face. “Well thank you. I’m sure it looks lovely on me.”

Albus looks over at him and laughs and the weird tension that was reverberating between them seems to evaporate. Tucking into their breakfast, Albus asks between bites, “I was thinking we could go and see the new Jurassic Planet movie today since you blew me off for stupid work yesterday, what do you think?”

“Oh yeah! That sounds like a great plan. And I didn’t blow you off, I just had to be a responsible, mature adult and go to work.” Scorpius sticks his tongue out at Albus, who returns the gesture, then grins.

“I know, I’m only teasing. Besides, I went to see it yesterday anyway,” Albus shrugs.

Scorpius throws his utensils down with a clatter and turns, disappointed, to Albus, “You didn’t! We said we would see it together!”

Albus watches him a moment with a straight face and then he bursts into laughter. “You’re too easy. No, I didn’t see it without you, you plonker. Do you really think I’d do that?”

Scorpius laughs, “No, not really. And how dare you say I’m _easy_!’”

“Okay, okay. You aren’t easy. But fortunately for you, you’re worth the effort.”

Scorpius can feel his cheeks warm and turns back to his food. The two finish their meal in comfortable silence and Albus takes his leave after extracting a promise from Scorpius that he will be ready to leave for the movie by 2:30, and then he’s gone, the two empty trays hovering in front of him.

He settles back under the covers and briefly contemplates going back to sleep, but a feeling of unease has begun to creep over him. Now that he’s come out to his father and the world didn't come to a fiery, crashing end, he’s begun to wonder if maybe it’s time that he comes out to other people as well, first-and-foremost to Albus.

He throws back the covers and tiptoes over to his door. Craning his head out, he can hear the spraying water and rattle clangs of Albus doing the washing up in the kitchen. Scorpius closes his door slowly until he hears the click of the lock, and then casts a _Muffliato_.

Walking back to his bed, he pulls out the shrunken typewriter and _Engorgio_ s it back to its original size. Setting the machine down on the bed, Scorpius settles down in front of it, one leg bent underneath him, and chews on his thumb, thinking what to type. Tentatively, he types out the short missive:

Hi. Are you there?

He taps his wand to the device, sending the question out to his admirer. Scorpius sits, waiting, for five minutes or so, but the keys remain stubbornly immobile. He supposes his admirer must have a life of his own and isn’t just sitting there, waiting to be at Scorpius’ beck and call, but he can’t help but feel a wee bit disappointed anyway.

Dejected, Scorpius stands up and starts taking off his silk pyjamas, intent on taking a bath to take his mind off of the feelings of guilt and loneliness that are roiling inside of him. Scorpius lets the water run until it’s just on this side of too-hot and then he closes the drain and lets the large soaker tub in his en-suite bathroom fill. He inspects the various bath supplies in the gift basket he received for Christmas—which reminds him, he really should get to work on writing up those thank you notes—before settling on a candy cane scented bath bomb.

He shuts off the tap and steps into the piping hot water, hissing as his skin tingles from the heat. He lowers himself slowly into the bath, the water level rising until it’s barely an inch below the edge of the tub. He rests his head back against the bath pillow that is suction-cupped to the tile wall of the tub enclosure and lets out a long breath, letting his muscles relax as the bath bomb is propelled around the tub, fizzing away into nothingness and filling the room with the crisp, refreshing scent of peppermint.

His eyes are just drifting shut when he hears the clacking of metal keys from the other room and he jerks upright, sloshing water over the edge of the tub and onto the white tiles of the floor. He grabs up his wand and syphons away the water before it has a chance to leak, and then he _Accio_ s the typewriter from his bedroom. He holds it aloft with a _Wingardium Leviosa_ as he sets up the bathtub tray across the span of the tub, then carefully sets the typewriter down in front of him.

Hi. Are you there?

Sorry, I was busy with something. I’m here now. What’s up?

Scorpius contemplates how to explain why he’s so upset. He’s already told him all about his lunch with his dad and how he’s now officially “out” to twice as many people as before. Scorpius begins typing:

Hi. Are you there?

Sorry, I was busy with something. I’m here now. What’s up?

I think I need to tell Albus that I’m gay.

He taps his wand against the typewriter and attempts to wait patiently for the response. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to wait for long.

Hi. Are you there?

Sorry, I was busy with something. I’m here now. What’s up?

I think I need to tell Albus that I’m gay.

That’s great... isn't it? Are you afraid he won’t want to be your friend anymore?

That’s not really it. Scorpius knows that Albus will be supportive of him and will say all of the right things, but, deep down, he’s still nervous that something between them will fundamentally change. That Albus will never see him the same way he always has, that he’ll subconsciously treat him different, that they won’t be... _us_ anymore.

Hi. Are you there?

Sorry, I was busy with something. I’m here now. What’s up?

I think I need to tell Albus that I’m gay.

That’s great... isn’t it? Are you afraid he won’t want to be your friend anymore?

I just don’t want him to treat me differently.

After a moment of hesitation, Scorpius decides that it’s best to be honest. He’s kept this huge secret from Albus all these years, but he doesn’t want that to be the case if something does come of this.

Hi. Are you there?

Sorry, I was busy with something. I’m here now. What’s up?

I think I need to tell Albus that I’m gay.

That’s great... isn’t it? Are you afraid he won’t want to be your friend anymore?

I just don’t want him to treat me differently.

Also, I have kind of been in love with him for years, so that makes it awkward. Sorry. I hope that doesn’t make you hate me. I just want to be honest. I’m really tired of hiding parts of myself.

With his nerves jangling, Scorpius sends the message off and then waits. The typewriter sits lifeless for a few minutes and Scorpius tries to let the lapping water soothe him while the worst possible scenarios play out in his head. When he’s convinced that he’s made a colossal mistake and has chased off the best chance he has to finally get over Albus, he lets himself slide down the tub until his head is submerged under the water, and he lets out a scream of frustration, the bubbles of air floating to the surface of the tub.

He’s just about to re-emerge from the water when the dull thud-thud sound hits his ears through the thick medium of the water, and he shoots up and back out of the water, tossing his head back and scraping the soap bubbles out of his eyes. He curses as he notices the water splatter on the paper and quickly brushes it away, some of the ink from their previous messages running and smearing. He yanks the towel off of the hook and dabs away as much of the spare moisture as he can but sighs when he realizes that there’s no salvaging it. At least it’s still readable, even if it is a little streaky.

Hi. Are you there?

Sorry, I was busy with something. I’m here now. What’s up?

I think I need to tell Albus that I’m gay.

That’s great... isn’t it? Are you afraid he won’t want to be your friend anymore?

I just don’t want him to treat me differently.

Also, I have kind of been in love with him for years, so that makes it awkward. Sorry. I hope that doesn’t make you hate me. I just want to be honest. I’m really tired of hiding parts of myself.

Nobody should have to hide who they are with the people that they love. If he deserves to be your friend, then he will be happy that you trust him enough to be honest with him. Things may change between you, but change isn’t always a bad thing. I could never hate you, Scorpius. I’m honoured that you felt safe enough to tell me. And I don’t see you being in love with him as an insurmountable problem. I can be very charming. :) 

Scorpius reads the message several times, each time taking more and more comfort from it until the angry ball of nerves inside him starts to unravel. Smiling to himself, he types a final message:

Hi. Are you there?

Sorry, I was busy with something. I’m here now. What’s up?

I think I need to tell Albus that I’m gay.

That’s great... isn’t it? Are you afraid he won’t want to be your friend anymore?

I just don’t want him to treat me differently.

Also, I have kind of been in love with him for years, so that makes it awkward. Sorry. I hope that doesn’t make you hate me. I just want to be honest. I’m really tired of hiding parts of myself.

Nobody should have to hide who they are with the people that they love. If he deserves to be your friend, then he will be happy that you trust him enough to be honest with him. Things may change between you, but change isn’t always a bad thing. I could never hate you, Scorpius. I’m honoured that you felt safe enough to tell me. And I don’t see you being in love with him as an insurmountable problem. I can be very charming. :)

And cocky. ;) Thank you.

Scorpius shrinks the typewriter back down and sets it on the floor beside the tub then leans back against the pillow, much more relaxed and happy. It may not be today, but one day soon, he’s going to tell Albus that he’s gay.

 

★★★

“Merlin! And when the mortemsaur ripped its way through that airlock door and bit that guy’s head off?! That was insane!” Scorpius is practically bouncing with excitement recounting the highlights of the Jurassic Planet movie.

“That was so fetch!” Albus agrees. Rounding the corner of the hallway, their door comes into view and Albus points at the nondescript package sitting on their doorstep. He picks up the package and inspects the label and then holds it out to Scorpius, “It’s for you.”

Scorpius rips into the package as they step into the apartment and, digging through the packing peanuts, he pulls out a smaller box and Albus’ face lights up, “Oh cool! It’s a pair of those VR glasses! Is that another gift from that secret admirer of yours?”

“It must be; I certainly didn’t order them for myself.”

“Well? What are you waiting for? Try them out!” Albus looks gleeful, like he can’t wait to try them out for himself. _Which is probably true_ , Scorpius thinks.

They sit down beside each other on the living room sofa and Scorpius opens the box containing the Muggle gadget while Albus digs around in the shipping box, “Oh, hey, there’s something else in here.” Albus pulls out an envelope and before he can stop him, he’s ripping it open and pulling out a letter and a small cartridge. Albus unfolds the letter, which seems to be printed on plain white paper and reads aloud, “Scorpius, I hope you enjoy this Muggle toy for day four. I picked this VR scene specifically for you. Don’t worry, it isn’t porn.”

Scorpius can feel his cheeks blaze with heat as Albus laughs out loud. “You can get porn for these things?! Are you going to let me borrow it some time, Scorp?” Albus elbows his ribs and he rolls his eyes as a maelstrom of jealousy and lust erupts at the thought.

“What are you waiting for? Try it out!” Scorpius shakes himself from thoughts of VR porn and picks up the glasses. They’re shaped almost like diving goggles, with a rubbery black material that looks like it forms a tight seal around the eyes, and a thick leather strap that goes around the back of the head and velcros into place with two headphone jacks hanging from short wires.

Scorpius inspects the goggles for a minute and spots a slot near the front, so he takes the cartridge from Albus and plays with it until it slides into place. Taking note of the little power button on the right side of the goggles, Scorpius straps the goggles into place, slides the headphones into his ear, and turns the unit on. Suddenly the black inside of the goggles disappears and it’s as if he’s in a lush, jungle rainforest. He can hear birdsong and the rustle of leaves as the wind blows through the canopy of the forest. Scorpius stands up and he imagines Albus must be levitating the furniture out of the way as Scorpius strides forward, looking all around him. He lifts his arms up, pushing aside oversized palm fronds, and is surprised when he doesn’t meet any resistance; the simulation feels so real that for a moment he has almost forgotten that he’s actually in their living room and not in the tropical rainforest.

He breaks through the treeline and into a small meadow with tall grass growing up to his knees. He’s just reached the middle of the meadow when a rustling in the thick trees to his right sends him spinning around, his heart racing. as a scaly head slowly emerges from the dense thicket. Scorpius gasps as the velociraptor steps out into the meadow and stalks towards him. Another rustle to his left has him turning in that direction, as another velociraptor emerges into the meadow, sending him walking slowly backwards.

A third head, loaded with sharp teeth emerges further to the left and then he’s backing up, his heart racing a mile a minute as the three deadly predators stalk towards him. He freezes as a stick cracks behind him and he rotates slowly on the spot to find a scaly head, with a jagged blue stripe down the side, right behind him, a low growl emerging from the razor-sharp teeth-lined mouth. He stands there, staring, too afraid to move, and waits for the deadly pack to attack, but nothing happens.

Moving as slowly as he can, he lifts his hand out, holding his palm out in front of him, watching for a reaction in the dangerous predator in front of him. His hand makes contact with the muzzle, and Blue’s head dips, letting him pet him gently. Again, he’s shocked to feel nothing but empty air against his hand, the simulation so life-like that he had fully expected to feel the cool, coarse skin against his hand when they had made contact.

Blue’s head shoots up and he lets his hand fall away. The raptor looks over his shoulder, clicking sounds coming from its throat, and then it turns back to him. They gaze at each other for several long moments, and then the agile creature ducks around him. Scorpius spins around and watches as the four creatures are absorbed back into the thick, green foliage. Just before he’s gone, Blue turns back one more time, several clicks drift across the meadow and then he turns back around and sprints into the jungle and is out of sight.

The goggles fade to black and he slides them off his head, surprised to find himself clear across the room and Albus leaning forward on the couch with an amused grin on his face. “That was so incredibly cool!” Scorpius gushes.

Albus laughs, “I’d be surprised if it’s even half as amusing as watching you do it.”

Scorpius laughs too, then crosses the room, which he notes now has all of the other furniture pushed against the wall, and holds the glasses out to Albus. “Your turn.”

Albus takes them with a wide grin and Scorpius watches, amused, as Albus explores the virtual jungle. He can tell when the velociraptors make their appearance because Albus’ breathing kicks up a notch until he’s practically panting. After it’s over, Albus removes the specs with a dazed, but impressed, look on his face. They each run through the whole thing a few more times until they’re both hungry, so they prepare dinner together while they talk excitedly about the simulation and how real it feels.

They’ve finished eating dinner and are loading the dishwasher when Al proposes they watch Jurassic World again. Scorpius is about to heartily agree when he remembers his stray thought from earlier and he lets out an aggrieved sigh. “I really need to write up the thank you notes and get them sent out tomorrow. Why don’t you go start it and I’ll join you once I’m done?”

“Really? You need to do those _now_? Can’t that wait until tomorrow or something?” Albus asks hopefully.

Scorpius shakes his head, “You know what my father says: Within three days is polite, four is just checking off a box, and why bother past five.”

Albus laughs, “Seems that the easiest solution is just to wait two more days and the problem resolves itself.”

Scorpius scoffs, “Right, and then I have multiple Howlers being sent to me lamenting the fact that he raised an uncouth heathen who can’t even be bothered to write out a few thank you cards.”

Albus shudders at that thought, “Yeah, you’re right. That would definitely be worse. Okay, well then let’s get cracking on them.”

Scorpius turns a surprised look to Al, “You’ll help me with them?”

Al nods his head, “Of course. Many hands make light work and all that. Between the two of us, we’ll get that pile of thank you cards done and ready to go out the door in no time.” He gives Scorpius a warm grin and sits himself down at their dining table.

“Thanks, Al.”

He shrugs like it’s only natural that he would help. Scorpius heads to his room and grabs the matte stationery cards that are embossed with the Malfoy family crest on them, two quills, an inkstand, and the list of people that sent him a Christmas gift, and then heads back to the dining room where Al is still sitting, waiting patiently for him. He rips the list in half, giving one half to Al, and the two of them get to work on the unpleasant task, still enthusing over the velociraptor pack simulation.

Scorpius finds himself getting distracted, watching Al as he intently writes out short missives on the thick paper, thinking that he should just get it over with and tell him. But then, Al looks up at him with a quizzical look on his face and Scorpius chickens out, shakes his head and goes back to his own card. Soon. He’ll tell him soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend and beta, [OllieMaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllieMaye), challenged me to somehow include a velociraptor in this fic because I love dinosaurs. Well, challenge accepted! And I included the whole raptor squad because I am an overachiever. ;)


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

_December 29th, 2025_

 

Scorpius is sitting at his desk on Monday morning, trying to track down a stray 11 Knuts in an account that is refusing to balance, when there’s a knock on his door.

“Hey Scorp, you free for lunch today?” Albus asks, leaning against the doorframe with his wand in his hand.

“I can’t today. Bograsp is expecting some important documents from the Minister and he wants me to be at my desk all day to receive them personally. What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

Albus looks unconcerned. “Took a half day today. I had some errands to run, so my boss said it wasn’t a problem since the Muggles often take the week between Christmas and New Year’s off anyway.”

“Must be nice to work for someone so reasonable.” Scorpius rolls his eyes and sighs. Albus gives Scorpius a surprised look and then glances meaningfully at the office door behind him. “Oh, he’s not even here. The goblins are having some sort of professional development day. Bograsp is at a conference on _The Intersection Between Fiduciary Responsibility and Cultural Dynamics_. He’s out of the office all day.”

“If you can’t come to lunch, then I’ll just have to bring lunch to you then. I’ll be back at noon.” Scorpius nods in agreement and Albus leaves, waving as he disappears from the door.

Scorpius smiles to himself and then turns his attention back to the case of the missing 11 Knuts. It takes him the better part of an hour to track down the errant coins, and he’s just finishing up the final tally of the account when there’s another knock at his door. He looks up, expecting Albus, to find a tall wizard wearing a knee-length robe with a bum bag attached around his waist, in a drab tan colour, with a lapel badge sewn onto the right side.

“Are you Scorpius Malfoy?”

Scorpius nods, assuming this must be the documentation from the Minister for Magic, though he can’t understand why they would send them via Hocus Pocus Haulers and not just use one of the Ministry owls.

“Great, tap here.” The man strides into the room and hands over a clipboard with a delivery notice with his name on it attached to the top of a stack of papers. Scorpius takes out his wand and taps it to the magical signature line. The clipboard vibrates for a moment and then a chipper voice says “Approved!”

The delivery man takes back his clipboard and places it under his arm as he unzips the bum bag and reaches in. Scorpius watches, amused, as the man bends forward, his whole forearm disappearing into the bag that must have an Undetectable Extension Charm built into it. The man grunts slightly, his tongue sticking out one side of his mouth and curled up around his lip, and Scorpius coughs to cover the burst of laughter that is threatening to bubble out of him. Finally, he lets out a relieved “Ah ha!” and retracts his arm from the bag, a small cube pinched between the man’s thumb and middle finger. He places the shrunken box on the desk in front of Scorpius, pulls out his wand, and reverses the shrinking charm.

“Thank you,” Scorpius says, an amused grin still fighting to break through his composure. The man lifts his hand to his forehead, gives him a two-finger salute and takes his leave, whistling to himself.

Scorpius removes the envelope that is addressed to him from the top of the box and opens it with the ornate Jade-handled letter opener that his father had given him when he started his job here at Gringotts. Sliding the letter out of the envelope, Scorpius is unsurprised to see that the note has been typewritten, like all the others he has received from his admirer.

5 gifts on day 5, one to please each of the senses.

Scorpius cuts open the box and opens the flaps, standing up and looking inside. The first thing he sees is a potted plant, wrapped in cellophane. As he folds back the crinkling, transparent wrapping, his nose is filled with the intoxicating aroma of the Serpentine cologne that Al recently started wearing, tree sap, and, faintly, fresh ink.

Looking around the office, Scorpius dumps out several quills from a container on his desk and, setting the bunch of flowers back down for a minute, he transfigures the holder into a small plate. He removes the cellophane from the plant, which is sitting in an emerald blue, clay pot, and sets it down on the little plate. He waters the plant with a silent _Aguamenti_ and noticing a small note clipped to one of the stems, he removes it to find the description of the flowers: ‘ _Amaryllis amortentia_ , a wizarding flower breed that smells differently to each individual, reflecting their true heart’s desire.’

Scorpius snorts to himself: no surprise there that the first thing he smelled was something that reminded him of Albus. He has a suspicion that the barely-there smell of ink may be indicative of his growing fondness for this mystery person, the growing excitement he feels whenever the typewriter whirs into motion and new words appear on the previously pristine paper.

He takes another lungful of the flowers’ delicious scent before setting the plant down carefully on the corner of his desk where he can admire them. Turning his attention back to the box, Scorpius pulls out a small music player. Based on the Muggle iPods, these little devices have become all the rage in recent months among young witches and wizards who grew tired of the bulkiness of records and gramophones.

Scorpius taps his wand against the device and the room explodes with the [perky, repeating strums of a string instrument](https://music.zoekeating.com/track/sun-will-set) causing him to jump in fright, his wand flying out of his hand. He dives for it, fumbling it a few times before he manages to grab ahold of it. By now, two more layers of the song, which he now recognizes is by one of his favourite cellists, has been introduced, and the sound is reverberating around the office. He frantically lowers the volume on the device, the room dropping into silence once more and he waits with bated breath to see whether anyone has played witness to his embarrassing gaffe.

When the coast seems clear, he turns the volume up minutely on the device and sits down in his chair, letting the music wash over him, the cheeky plucking of strings lightening the gravitas of the deeper melody beneath. Deciding to leave the music on, now that it’s not rattling the walls—and safe in the knowledge that there are no goblins around to harangue him about frippery—he is just reaching into the box to remove the next item when there’s a knock on the door and he looks up to see Albus standing there.

“Mmmm, what smells so good in here?” Albus enters the room with his nose held high in the air, sniffing.

Curious, Scorpius goes for innocent when he asks, “What does it smell like to you?”

Al sniffs a few more times and then answers, “It smells like cinnamon, and buttered popcorn, and peppermint.” Scorpius is surprised when Albus’ face turns a ruddy colour. A fleeting hope that he is the source of the peppermint smell that is apparently part of Albus’ ‘true heart’s desire’ takes hold of him before he beats it down. There’s no use in him getting his hopes up and deluding himself; he needs to move on and get over Al.

Al laughs, “That must mean I’m hungry, right? Wait, why do you ask? What does it smell like to you?”

A mournful piano solo starts the beginning of another song as Scorpius clears his throat and gathers up some papers littered around his desk, hiding the little note card explaining the flower’s unique qualities in the middle of the stack so Albus doesn’t find it. Nervously, he says, “Same. We both must be hungry. Good thing you brought us lunch.”

Albus gives him a weird look, then seemingly deciding to let it go, he nods and moves to set the large, wicker picnic basket that he’s carrying on the desk, but stops abruptly when he sees the delivery box. “Oooo, is that another gift from that secret admirer of yours? What did they send you this time?”

Scorpius picks up the box and sets it down on the floor beside him, making room on the desk for Albus’ basket. A woman croons that [“some things change your whole life”](https://carolinekeating.bandcamp.com/track/so-long-solange) before a violin joins the piano in the track, as Albus opens up the basket and starts unpacking the contents, setting out two ceramic plates with silver cutlery.

Scorpius averts his eyes, looking at the _Amaryllis amortentia_ intently. “Yeah, h-they sent me a gift for each of my senses today,” he just manages to catch himself from using the revealing pronoun in time. “The flowers and the playlist are the only ones I’ve looked at so far.”

Albus takes a deep breath again as he scoops out a hearty helping of potato salad onto each of the plates, alongside two pieces of roast chicken, “Those would be for smell, would be my bet.”

Scorpius laughs, “I’ll pass on that bet.”

Albus grins at him, “So don’t leave me on tenterhooks; what else did they send you?” He rips open a packet of crisps, pouring half onto each of the plates, then hands one of the plates over to Scorpius.

Scorpius watches as Al takes one of the thick, wavy cut crisps and scoops up a bite of the potato salad, shoving the whole thing into his mouth and humming contentedly. “Your table manners really are atrocious, Al,” he smirks.

Albus finishes chewing and swallows the mouthful of various potato preparations—a small mercy—before he grins at Scorpius. “This isn’t a table. All you can say is that I have atrocious desk manners.”

Scorpius rolls his eyes and takes a small forkful of the potato salad, groaning at the delicious symphony of flavours that play over his tongue. Albus grins at him again, “Isn’t it amazing? I sweet-talked Nan into making us some of her famous potato salad. The recipe is top secret; she swears that she will only part with it on her deathbed. My mum managed to track down the recipe card for it once, but Nan has enchanted it to insult anyone that tries to read it. I’m pretty sure she nicked the idea from the Marauder’s Map.”

Scorpius sets his fork down, wanting to save the ambrosial potato salad for last, and picks up one of the pieces of chicken, tucking into it. They eat in silence for a while, Scorpius savouring the creamy salad last, and then he wipes his hands on one of the cloth napkins that Al has packed with him.

Al reaches into the basket and takes out two champagne goblets and a bottle, and Scorpius protests, “Al, even if Bograsp isn’t here, I can’t drink at work.” He casts a suspicious look around the office, as if he’s sure that the goblin has planted surveillance equipment somewhere.

“Don’t worry. It’s only sparkling apple juice.” Al pours each of them a glass of the bubbly liquid and hands one to Scorpius, who takes a sip, enjoying the little explosions of the carbonated beverage. Al takes a sip of his own drink and then _Tergeo_ s their plates and cutlery before replacing them in the basket. “Now that our bellies have been appeased, let’s see what on offer for the other three senses.”

[](https://youtu.be/qzWeZOzMc8o)

[_Listen here, listen close. You’re the one I love the most,_](https://youtu.be/qzWeZOzMc8o)a soft male voice sings as Scorpius grins at Albus, who is greedily rubbing his hands together, as if it was him receiving the gifts and not Scorpius. Relenting, Scorpius reaches down and pulls the next object out of the box: a rounded glass dome attached to a mahogany wood base, that seems to have several piles of grey ash. Floating inside the glass case is a rose, the petals made of flickering orange-red flames. As they watch, one of the petals comes loose and floats down to the base, the flames extinguishing and reducing the petal to another small pile of ash.

Albus reaches for the tag attached to the base of the display and reads it aloud, “The phoenix rose will shed one petal every hour, regenerating every day at midnight.”

“It’s so beautiful,” Scorpius sighs, and they both sit, captivated by the flickering flame petals.

“Definitely the gift for sight,” Albus says, a small smile on his face, and Scorpius nods. “Good luck getting any work done today with that to look at,” Albus grins. “I have to go back to work soon, so why don’t you find out what you got for the other two senses?”

Scorpius reluctantly sets the phoenix rose down, taking one last longing look at the flower, then turns back to the box and pulls out a small wooden box. About the size of a small jewellery box, the top and sides have various birds carved into them. Curious, he opens the lid and almost drops the box as a powerful gust of wind arises from it and swirls around him. The wind is warm, like a sirocco, as it wraps around him. His robes and clothes do nothing to keep the gust out as it seems to wash directly over his skin as if his entire body is being stroked with soft down feathers.

He sits, paralyzed by the overload of sensation, for several seconds until he manages to regain control of himself enough to close the box again, and the breeze dissipates immediately. “Bloody hell!” Albus’ voice is low and rough and he shifts in the chair, looking uncomfortable. Scorpius’ eyes dart down before he can even contemplate what he’s doing and he swallows hard at the beginning of an erection that Albus is sporting. Scorpius sends up a silent prayer of thanks for the fact that he’s wearing his robes, because his own, matching, erection that had been kick-started by the sinfully delicious feeling of all of those feathers washing over every inch of his skin, has flared into glorious life at the sight of Albus’ erection.

Scorpius forces his eyes away in a Herculean feat of strength and looks up to Albus. Clearing his throat, he nods his head jerkily. “I think it would be safe to say that that gift represents touch.”

They both sit quietly, regaining their composure, as a violin builds in the current song, a male voice singing, _[To the molecule I belong to you. You’re my galaxy, not a star. Never doubt the impact you’ve had on me, you’ve always been the best by far.](https://youtu.be/k3u7I2csmuI)_

Albus is rubbing his hands anxiously on his thighs, refusing to make eye contact with Scorpius, obviously uncomfortable to be turned on in the presence of another man. “Very...effective.” Albus chews on his lip and then looks up at Scorpius, covering up his obvious discomfiture with a pasted-on smile. “It’s going to be hard to top that one.”

Scorpius can’t help the nervous laugh that escapes; he’s definitely not going to argue with that! “Okay, last one.”

Scorpius removes the last item from the box, a metallic Star Trek lunch box, and Scorpius laughs with glee, his nervous awkwardness forgotten. The top of the box is framed in purple, which matches the plastic handle, and inside the frame is Captain Kirk, with Spock behind him and off to the side, the two of them looking off to the right. Behind them is an inky black sky, dotted with pinpoints of stars, and the starship Enterprise hovering in deep space.

Albus is watching him with a wide grin on his face as he laughs at the absurd item. Scorpius holds it up and turns it to face Albus, who also laughs. “Merlin, that thing should be in a museum!”

Scorpius can’t help but agree; this lunch box must be over 45 years old. Since he’d moved out on his own and finally owned a Muggle TV, he had become enamoured with the series and all of its dramatic flair and Shatner’s staccato delivery of lines. He’s now watched all of the series and the movies, but the original series is still his favourite. He likes to believe that Kirk and Spock were secretly lovers: after all, it must get lonely out in space. His own desire for a friendship to evolve into a romantic relationship may factor into that belief, though.

Setting the lunchbox down on his desk, he inspects the clasp, eventually working out how to open it, then pauses a moment, wondering if there’s going to be another erotic surprise in this one. He casts a nervous glance at Al, who motions for him to open it, so taking a deep breath, he does just that, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself for something to come shooting out at him. When the coast seems clear, he opens one eye and looks around the room and nothing seems to have changed, though Albus is watching him with a look of wry amusement.

Feeling silly, Scorpius looks down into the lunch box and he isn’t sure whether he’s relieved or disappointed to see that it contains...well, what looks like lunch. There is a blue, square thermos with a white lid that also looks to be a cup and a Star Trek sticker on it lying flat on one side of the box, and the rest of the box is filled by a plastic container with what looks like an assortment of fruit slices and a smaller container with two small oblong berries in it. There’s a typed note taped to the top of this container that simply says “Eat me first. Swirl me around in your mouth, coating the entire inside of your mouth. Don’t eat the pit. Then wait a few minutes before you sample the other foods.”

Scorpius removes the container and opens it, inspecting the contents suspiciously; the two berries look vaguely like a hybrid of a grape and a cherry, but he’s never seen it before.

“What is it?” Albus asks.

“I have no Earthly idea,” Scorpius replies. “It merely instructs us to eat the berries first.”

“Us? This is your gift remember! What if it’s poisoned or something?” Albus jokes, giving him a mock look of horror before he laughs lightly.

“Some friend you are. Content to sit here and watch your best friend perish in front of your very eyes,” Scorpius chides him.

“You’re right. I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.” Before Scorpius can react, Albus has reached across the desk and yanked the container carrying the berries out of his hand, plucked one up, and popped it into his mouth. His jaw moves as he chews and shuttles the mysterious fruit around his mouth, then he swallows and leans over, spitting the pit into the wastebasket beside Scorpius’ desk.

“Well, you haven’t dropped dead yet, so I guess these are safe for my consumption,” Scorpius smirks.

Albus nods. “You’re good to go.”

Rolling his eyes, Scorpius eats one of the berries, which tastes sort of tangy and pleasant—like a sweeter version of a cranberry—as instructed and spits the pit out alongside Albus’ into the wastepaper basket.

“So what else is in there?” Albus asks.

Scorpius removes the larger container and takes the lid off. Inside is an assortment of fruits: Strawberries and wedges of lemon and lime. Scorpius holds the container up to his nose and sniffs, suspicious, but nothing seems amiss. It seems to just be fruit. He hands the container over to Albus, who looks confused, and then removes the thermos. Unscrewing the lid, he takes a deep inhale and then throws his head back, coughing, as the sharp, biting scent assaults his nostrils.

Albus laughs and Scorpius retorts, “It wouldn’t be quite so funny if you were the one that got a noseful of vinegar, you prat.”

Albus merely laughs again before he responds, “So now what?”

“I suppose we’re supposed to eat this stuff, though why they included a thermos of vinegar is beyond me.” Shrugging, Scorpius picks up one of the strawberries and takes a bite and— _Merlin’s balls!_ —this may just be the absolute best strawberry he’s ever tasted. Scorpius’ eyes flare and he wants to groan with how delicious it tastes, the normal tangy bite of the strawberry is gone and the fruit is nothing but sweet, almost as if it’s been dipped in sugar.

“Oh come on, no strawberry can taste THAT good,” Albus scoffs. Reaching across the desk, he takes one of the other strawberries and bites into it and Scorpius wants to crow in satisfaction at being proven right when Albus’ eyes roll up into his head and he groans. “Fuck me.”

Scorpius is too distracted by the delicious flavour to even stutter at the mental image that elicits. Intrigued now, they each try the wedges of lemon and lime, which taste like lemonade and limeade, respectively. Scorpius laughs as Albus give him a wide grin, teeth hidden behind a thick slice of lemon peel.

After all the fruit is gone, Al casts a speculative look at the thermos before speaking, “What do you think? Should we give it a try?” At Scorpius’ look of revulsion, Al smirks at him, “Scared, Malfoy?”

Scorpius rolls his eyes, “Do you really think that childish ploy is going to work on me?”

Al watches him, considering, for a moment and then nods. “Yeah, I think it will. I’ve known you for a long time, Scorp. I think I know you better than anyone else does.”

 _Maybe, but you don’t know_ everything _there is to know about me, Al. There’s one pretty major thing that you have no idea about_. Scorpius has a mad impulse to just tell him now. Just blurt it out: Al, I’m GAY! He can feel the words bubbling up his trachea, fighting to escape, but he pushes them down, fighting the flash of insanity.

“Fine, let’s get this over with.” Scorpius unscrews the thermos lid once more and pours a small measure of the liquid into the child-sized cup. He takes a small sniff of the clear liquid once more and—nope, still definitely vinegar. Deciding to trust his secret admirer, who hasn’t led him astray so far, he takes a small, tentative sip of the vinegar and washes it around his mouth. He’s surprised to find that though it smells like vinegar, the taste is actually closer to the Muggle fizzy drink Sprite, only with no carbonation and a bit watered-down.

When Scorpius doesn’t spit the vinegar out in disgust, Albus gestures for him to pass over the cup, and he does. Now that the water has been tested, Albus throws back the rest of the vinegar and swallows, laughing. “That is so wild! I wonder what these miracle berries are?”

“I have no idea, but they really are something...I hope it’s not permanent!” Scorpius cries, the thought only now occurring to him.

Al laughs, “I’m sure it will wear off eventually. Anyway, I’ve got to get back to work now. Thanks for sharing with me. This was a blast!” Al stands up and walks to the door, picnic basket in hand. “See you at home.”

With a wave, Al disappears and Scorpius sits back in his chair, enjoying the heavenly scent of the Amaryllis, the soft burn of the rose petals, and the [sultry notes blending into a soft electro beat](https://youtu.be/oydbEwgUh_k). He contemplates opening the touch box once more, but figures that an erection at work is hardly the peak of professionalism, even if his boss isn’t here today. Scorpius sits and lets time drift past him, unconcerned, just appreciating the beautiful gifts that have made him appreciate his senses like never before, until the promised documents from the Ministry arrives and he figures he should get back to work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs I explicitly mentioned in this chapter are:
> 
> [Zoe Keating - Sun Will Set](https://music.zoekeating.com/track/sun-will-set)  
> [Caroline Keating - So Long Solange](https://carolinekeating.bandcamp.com/track/so-long-solange)  
> [Daniel Wilson - If You Went Away](https://youtu.be/qzWeZOzMc8o)  
> [Passport to Stockholm - Chemistry](https://youtu.be/k3u7I2csmuI)  
> [St. Lucia - All Eyes on You](https://youtu.be/oydbEwgUh_k)
> 
> If you're interested in the full Us playlist, you can check it out on YouTube [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLw-oP3JM9QlAOR9iQ4v_URcRILL0f9TZa). I tried putting it together on SoundCloud and Spotify, but neither of those platforms had ALL of the songs on them, so YouTube it is! If you enjoy any of the songs, please support the artists. They're so talented!
> 
> Oh, and [miracle berries are a real thing](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synsepalum_dulcificum)! :D


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

_December 30th, 2025_

 

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Scorpius’ voice cracks embarrassingly as he stands at the door to Bograsp’s office.

He’s met with a grunt that sounds affirmative, so he steps into the office and closes the door, taking a spot on the edge of the seat, opposite Bograsp. The goblin continues with his task, ignoring Scorpius for a minute or so and then shuts the accounts ledger with a decisive snap. “You will need to pack up your belongings bec—”

The goblin stops abruptly at Scorpius’ distressed squeak and gives him a confused look. Scorpius can’t believe that he’s being fired! He’s lost count of how many times he’s stayed late or come in on his day off. Alternating waves of hot and cold flush over his body as a nervous panic takes over him. He simply can’t lose this job—he can’t!

“Please, sir, don’t fire me. I’ll do whatever you want me to do, anything, just please give me a second chance to prove that I’m a good employee!” Bograsp gives him a level stare and Scorpius drops his head in shame.

“If you’re quite done with your tantrum, may I finish what I was going to say?” Scorpius nods slowly, bracing himself for the harsh recriminations that he’s sure is coming. Bograsp lets out an unimpressed _hmm_ sound before he continues, “as I was saying, you will need to pack up your belongings because your promotion paperwork has come through and you will be moving to a new office.”

Scorpius’ head shoots up and he can do nothing but stare at his boss in shock. “What…but...I…” Bograsp is giving him a beady-eyed look as he stammers, completely flabbergasted at these turn of events. He feels like he is on a rollercoaster; only seconds ago he felt like a humongous failure and now a few cautious strands of optimism are starting to multiply inside of him.

Eventually, he manages to corral his thoughts enough that he is able to string more than one word together. “I don’t understand, sir. I didn’t even know that I was being considered for a promotion.”

Bograsp leans back in his chair and rests his elbows on the armrest, crossing his fingers together across his belly. “Am I to understand that you are uninterested in a promotion and would like to remain as my receptionist?”

“NO,” Scorpius yells out, then feels his whole face erupt with heat. He thinks, just maybe, he sees a tiny uptick of Bograsp’s mouth before the expression is gone once again. “I have enjoyed my time working under you.” Bograsp’s left eyebrow shoots up in disbelief; perhaps _enjoyed_ is a bit of an overstatement. Scorpius tries again, “I’ve learned a lot working for you, that is. I am just surprised, is all.”

“I have worked at this bank for 47 years. I have had the displeasure of serving 3 generations of Malfoys before you. Although your father has improved considerably with age and no longer treats us goblins as a subclass of species, I remember him as a child and his views were not nearly so enlightened back then. When you were hired on here, I expected you to be a spoiled pureblood wizard with a sense of entitlement that has been ingrained in your family for centuries. I have been both surprised and pleased to find that you are anything but.”

Scorpius can do nothing but stare at Bograsp in shock. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that Bograsp was actually paying him a compliment.

“In the seventeen months that you have worked for me, you have proven yourself to be intelligent, focused, and to have an admirable work ethic. You’ve handled every task I’ve set you without complaint and with diligence.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” Scorpius manages to stutter out. He discretely pinches his thigh, half-convinced that he’s dreaming, but the sharp bite of pain that shoots up his leg suggests that he is not asleep and this is, in fact, actually happening.

Bograsp nods crisply and then continues, “When the executive team decided to create this new position, I put your name in for it immediately.” Bograsp’s face scrunches into a disgruntled look. “Though it will be a tremendous inconvenience for me. I find it highly unlikely that we will be able to find another wizard that isn’t completely incompetent.”

Scorpius’ head is reeling. After so many months of yearning for Bograsp’s approval, the practical tsunami of compliments coming at him has him drowning a bit. “Thank you very much, sir. What does this new position entail?”

Bograsp lifts up a pile of ledgers from his desk and removes a purple file folder from the bottom of the stack, handing it over to Scorpius. “It’s a Financial Analyst position that will be dedicated to new and emerging currencies. You will advise our clients on the best investments to grow their wealth. You will need to be fluent in both wizarding and Muggle investment opportunities, to ensure our clients have the most diverse portfolios possible. Does that sound like something you would be interested in taking on?”

Scorpius has been flicking through the folder and scanning the documentation as a feeling of elation grows steadily inside him. He will definitely need to do some reading up on the wide variety of blockchain currencies that have become increasingly popular in recent years, but he’s always had an affinity for numbers and analyzing trends, so he’s confident that he’ll not only be able to do the job, but that he will do it well. “Yes, sir. I can’t wait to get started, I—”

“Before you get into that,” Bograsp interrupts, “the other thing I needed to discuss with you is your holiday time. I’ve been informed that you have banked as much holiday days as is allowed by the Ministry and will need to take some time off. Starting this afternoon, you’re taking mandatory holidays for the next two weeks.”

Bograsp holds up his hand, stemming Scorpius’s objection, “No arguments. We must follow the decrees that the Ministry has issued.”

Scorpius supposes that he can use this time to do some research, and it _has_ been a while since he’s taken time off. Scorpius feels a grin break out on his face—this is turning out to be one of the best days of his life. “Okay, thank you, sir!”

“No need for thanks, Mr Malfoy. You’ve earned it. Now, your new office is on the upper levels on floor 3. You can pack up your things and get settled before you leave for your vacation.” Scorpius sits there, grinning at Bograsp as the silence stretches between them. “Now, Mr Malfoy.”

“Oh, right, of course,” Scorpius scrambles up and heads towards the door, but turns back and extends his hand out across the desk to Bograsp. “Thank you again, sir.”

Bograsp sits there, staring at his hand with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, and then he leans forward and shakes Scorpius’ hand curtly once, before pulling his hand back. “I expect great things from you, Mr Malfoy.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint, sir.” Bograsp has already bowed his head and taken up his quill once more, and waves him off without looking up. Scorpius chuckles to himself and lets himself out of the office and back into the reception area, closing the door carefully behind him so as not to disturb the curmudgeonly goblin, who apparently actually _does_ think rather highly of him. A content glow of pride settles over him at the thought.

Scanning the reception area that he has claimed as his own for the last eighteen months, Scorpius digs around in his desk until his fingers brush against the shrunken box that he had used all of those months ago on his first day. Taking it out, he _Engorgio_ s it back to its regular size, then he starts methodically packing his personal belongings into it. He carefully places the phoenix rose, chizpurfle circus, and potted amaryllis into the box, casting cushioning charms around them to ensure they don’t break. Emptying out his drawers, Scorpius methodically packs up the rest of his belongings, then takes a final look around his office, before departing and heading up the elevator to his new office.

Juggling the box on his knee, he manages to extract his wand from his robes and taps it to the lock on the door. He hears the click of the lock disengaging, and then his name slowly appears on the door in a thick, block script:

**Scorpius Malfoy**

**Financial Analyst, Emerging Currencies**

An exultant laugh bursts out of him at the sight, and he takes a moment to enjoy it, wanting to burn this memory into his mind so that he never forgets it. Eventually, he figures he shouldn’t just stand out in the hallway with a big, goofy grin on his face, so he pushes the door open and steps into his own office. The room is bright, the wide windows letting in the midday December sun, the light reflecting off the piles of snow piled up on the ledges of the windows in the building across the street.

He crosses the room and carefully sets the box down on the desk. He’s just about to start unpacking his things when a sharp rapping sounds behind him and he spins around to see a tawny brown owl standing precariously on the narrow windowsill. He hoists the window open and the bird hops inside and up onto the top of the back of his chair, hooting softly. He unties the message tied to the owl’s long leg and the owl looks up at him with wide eyes, expectant.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have any owl treats for you.” The owl gives him a disgruntled sounding hoot and then spreads his wings and flies out of the window. “I just got this office. I’ll have treats next time I see you!” Scorpius yells out the window at the disappearing form. Several startled shoppers are peering up at him from street level and he gives them a small wave, then ducks back inside and pulls the window closed once again.

Scorpius inspects the envelope in his hand and a jolt of excitement lances through him at the now-familiar typeface of his secret admirer. Giddy, he rips open the envelope and pulls out the folded note.

On Day 6, enjoy a delicious 6-course meal for you and a friend at Cuillère d'argent. There is a reservation for 7 pm for tonight in your name. Bon Appétit.

Scorpius can’t believe it! The waiting list for Silver Spoon is over a year long; he has no idea how his secret admirer has managed to get a reservation. He studiously unpacks his things, carefully arranging the magical items on his bookshelves, which are currently empty. Once all of his belongings are settled, he locks up his office and stops to send an owl to Al to tell him they have dinner plans at the most exclusive restaurant in London tonight before exiting Diagon Alley through the Leaky and heading to a big Muggle bookstore to buy some research material for his new job. He has five hours before they will need to leave for their dinner reservations, and he can’t wait to dig into his research.

★★★

“To my best friend and his first step up the corporate ladder!” Albus holds up his glass of champagne and Scorpius hastens to join him. They clink their glasses together and each take a sip, eyes locked.

Scorpius had spent the remainder of the afternoon reading up on Muggle digital currencies until Al had come home and he had practically pounced on him as soon as he came through the door, telling him all about his amazing day and new promotion. Al had seemed almost as excited for him as he was and had given him a huge hug.

The Cuillère d'argent reservation couldn’t have come at a more opportune time. They had eaten their way through five courses of sheer decadence and even though Scorpius felt like he couldn’t eat another bite, the food was too amazing to pass up. They were now on the sixth course—a rich, moist chocolate lava cake with a scoop of vanilla ice cream for Albus, and a perfectly toasted vanilla bean crème brûlée for himself. They sat, exchanging bites of each other’s desserts and sipping on effervescing flutes of champagne.

Scorpius feels warm, content, and a little swirly from the multiple glasses of wine he’s consumed over the course of the meal. He’s never been much of a drinker, and the three glasses of wine on top of the high he’s still riding from earlier on the day has left him ebullient and feeling like nothing could possibly go wrong.

“Seriously, Scorp. There’s no one that deserves this promotion more than you. They’re really lucky to have y—”

“I’m gay!” Scorpius stares at Albus in confusion for a moment, because surely that couldn’t have come from him, and then a horrified embarrassment rises up inside of him and he slaps his hand across his mouth. The admission slipped out of him completely beyond his control, the copious wine having loosened his tongue. He was just sitting here listening to Albus being so kind and complimenting him and thinking about how he wished he could just work up the courage to be honest with him, and then the next thing he knew, he was hearing the very admission he’d just been thinking of being declared aloud in a voice that sounded terribly like his own.

Albus stares at him for a few moments looking thoroughly confused, no doubt due to the abrupt change of topic, and then he carefully sets down his champagne flute. He doesn't say anything right away and Scorpius wants to look away, but he can’t. A masochistic compulsion is forcing him to keep his eyes focused on Al, even though all he wants to do is sink through the floor. After what seems like an eternity, Al turns his gaze back to his own and a serious look takes over his face.

“Thank you for telling me.”

“That’s it?! That’s all you have to say?” Scorpius suspects his voice is one octave away from only being audible to crups.

“Scorp, relax. There’s nothing you could tell me that would make me not like you. You’re the same wonderful person to me that you were thirty seconds ago.”

“Really?” His question is barely a whisper, afraid that this day is too good to be true and his luck is due to run out.

“Of course, really. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” Albus looks nervous at the request, but when Scorpius nods he seems to gather himself. “How long have you known you were gay?”

Scorpius can feel his face heat with embarrassment. He wonders if there’s a way to get out of this awkward conversation, but he forces himself to answer honestly. He’s been yearning to be rid of this secret between them for years, so now he just has to push through this discomfort and hopefully they can go back to normal soon. “I suppose I’ve known for about five years.”

Albus nods his head and then moves onto his next question, “Who all knows?”

“Just you and Rose. Oh, and my dad. I just told him a few days ago, actually.”

“Wow. That’s amazing, Scorp! How did he take the news?” Albus asks.

Scorpius smiles. “It was actually—he took it really well. Better than I could have imagined, actually. He told me that he just wants me to find someone that makes me happy and that I’m in love with.”

Albus smiles. “That was pretty cool of your dad.”

Scorpius nods. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

Albus’ smile dissolves and his eyebrows pull together in a look of contemplation as he chews nervously on one side of his lower lip. Scorpius braces himself for the next question, which he can see is going to be a real doozy. “Scorp…”

Scorpius chews on his thumbnail as Albus stalls out, reaching for his glass and taking a deep gulp of the refreshing liquid. Scorpius has the crawling sensation that Albus is about to ask him whether Scorpius has ever fantasized about Albus, and he doesn’t know what to say if he does. Scorpius has never lied to Albus, but rather has just never denied any of the assumptions that he had made about Scorpius’ sex life, and he doesn’t want to start lying now, when he’s only just revealed such an important truth. But if Albus comes out and asks whether Scorpius has fantasized about him, he’ll have no choice but to lie, or creep Albus out by telling him that he has definitely imagined them in every position and performing every act that his overactive imagination, fueled by a collection of PlayWiz magazines, could come up with.

Al’s low voice draws Scorpius out of his thoughts, “Scorp, why are you only telling me now? Did I do something that made you think that I wouldn’t approve or that you had to hide who you are from me?”

There’s a note of pain in Al’s voice that makes Scorpius’ insides squeeze with guilt. Scorpius averts his eyes, picking up his spoon and breaking off small pieces of his dessert while he tries to sort out how to vocalize what he’s feeling. Finally, he forces out the words “Not exactly. I just...I wasn’t ready to face it, really. And—well, I didn’t want things to change between us. I didn’t want to risk losing my best friend.”

Al’s face lights up with a warm smile. Reaching across the table, he takes Scorpius’ hand between his own. His skin is warm and soft and Scorpius sucks in a surprised gasp of air at the intimate gesture. A nervous sweat breaks out over Scorpius’ skin when Albus rubs his thumb gently over the thin skin of Scorpius’ wrist.

“You’re my favourite person in the whole wide world. Good luck getting rid of me! I’m a little sad that you didn’t feel like you could tell me about this earlier, but I’m so incredibly chuffed that you told me now. I want you to know that I’m here for you. No matter what. I’ll always be here.”

Albus’ smile is lighting up his face and Scorpius is drunk with the feeling of his hands on him—not to mention all the wine—and he starts to wonder whether he should just put it all on the line and proclaim his love for Albus right now. Everything else has gone so perfectly today, and maybe Al will admit that he feels the same way and will lean across the table and run his hands through Scorpius’ hair, pulling him in for a long, hot meeting of their mouths, and—

Scorpius cuts off his train of wishful thinking and reclaims his hand. Al’s gentle touch is driving him to madness, and he needs to break off the contact to reinstate his sanity. Albus sits up straight once again, taking another sip of his champagne and they sit in silence for a time, neither seeming to know what to say now. The silence is just starting to eat away at Scorpius when Albus laughs and breaks the silence.

“So...do you have anyone special in mind that you’d like to bend over that new desk of yours to break it in properly?”

Scorpius lets out a very undignified snort and grabs for his champagne as Albus laughs riotously, obviously pleased at having flustered Scorpius so efficiently.

Two can play at this game. “What makes you think I won’t be the one bending over?” he asks with a single, upturned eyebrow. A thrill of satisfaction runs through him as Albus’ laughter melts away and his jaw drops, seeming to have become paralysed by Scorpius’ retort.

A self-satisfied smirk pulls at Scorpius as Albus clears his throat, swallows down the last of his champagne, and hastily refills both of their glasses. And then they’re both laughing, tears rolling down their cheeks while other startled diners give them suspicious, disgruntled looks, which only fuels their giddy mood. And it’s like nothing has changed.


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

_December 31st, 2025_

Scorpius comes awake slowly, a crick in his neck making itself apparent as he opens his eyes to see the crown moulding lining the walls of the living room. He sits there, trying to remember why he’s apparently slept on the sofa of their living room instead of on his very comfortable, memory foam bed, where he would most definitely would not have woken up with a stiff neck and a numb arse.

He shifts, trying to restore feeling to the area in question, and becomes aware of a heavy weight in his lap. Scorpius lifts his head and bends it from side-to-side, working out the worst of the discomfort, then looks down to his lap and the evening of memories comes back to him. Albus and he had finished their meal, with Scorpius feeling a sweeping sense of relief that he’s finally come out to his best friend and it looked like everything was going to be fine. They had decided that, given the amount of alcohol they had consumed, Apparition was too risky (’Friends don’t let friends Apparate drunk’, they’d loudly recited the Ministry’s educational motto), so they’d hailed a black-cab home, laughing the whole way.

They’d stumbled home and burst into a fresh set of giggles at Mrs Rafferty’s smirking “ _Evening, boys”_ in the elevator, before pouring into their apartment and collapsing onto the couch. Scorpius had suggested they watch a few more episodes of Community before they turned in, not wanting the best day ever to end, and then before he’d known what was happening, Al had been stretching out on the couch and resting his head on Scorpius’ lap, making himself comfortable.

Scorpius had gasped at the casual action, his body going rigid at the flood of emotions—desire, relief, fear—and then he’d consciously relaxed, enjoying the closeness. Tentatively, unsure of whether he was crossing a line, but unable to stop himself, he had reached out and run his fingers through Al’s dark mess of hair.

Al shifted against him and he pulled his hand back, afraid that he had been too forward, but Al murmured, “That felt nice.” Enheartened, Scorpius had returned to the movement, running his fingers through Al’s thick hair, letting his fingernails scrape gently against his scalp. Before long, he could hear soft snores coming from Al, and he turned off the show, not wanting to watch any more episodes without Al. He contemplated watching something else, but decided against it, instead just taking this unexpected opportunity to watch Al as he slept.

Al’s face is relaxed, his usually expressive face showing nothing but peace and contentment now. He misses the bright, warm smile that lights up his whole face and makes Scorpius’ stomach do a little flip every time it’s pointed at him, but he revels in the fact that he gets to see this: this private moment where Albus feels safe. Al shifts, his eyebrows drawing together and wraps his arms around his middle. Scorpius _Accios_ a blanket from his room and shakes it out over Al’s recumbent form. After a moment, Al sighs and settles in more deeply, his features settling back into blank contentment.

Scorpius rests his other hand against Al’s arm and it sits there a moment before Al’s hand reaches up and takes his, pulling it down against his chest. Scorpius is beginning to suspect that Al is a cuddler. Sleep is creeping up on him and he should really turn in, but a herd of wild kelpies wouldn’t be able to pull him away from this spot right now, and he falls asleep with the soft whisper of Albus’ breath brushing over his hand and the low drone of Al’s snores as a soothing melody.

He smiles to himself and looks down at his best friend, whose eyelids are still closed, full eyelashes brushing against the curving slope of his cheek. Al has shifted in his sleep and is now lying flat on his back, face upturned towards the ceiling. Scorpius reaches out and runs his fingers through Al’s hair once more, enjoying the feeling of the silky strands caressing his long fingers. Al’s eyes remain closed, but out of the corner of his eye Scorpius can see the corners of his mouth tick up, just the tiniest bit.

“Do you know you snore?” Al’s tone is croaky with morning roughness, and he doesn’t open his eyes.

Scorpius tugs on his hair, offended. “Malfoys do not snore!”

Al laughs and his eyes ease open, looking up at Scorpius. “I can’t speak for any other Malfoys, but at least one does. Maybe all of those rumours were right after all; maybe you aren’t really a Malfoy.”

Al smirks up at him and if it was anyone else mentioning the painful rumours that plagued much of his childhood, Scorpius would be awash with the self-consciousness and discomfort that plagued his early years, but he knows that Albus never put any stock in those rumours and that there’s nothing behind his statement but good-natured ribbing. “With this colouring?” Scorpius asks, swirling a strand of Al’s hair around his index finger idly. “I don’t think there could be any doubt from whose loins I arose.”

Al’s face scrunches up. “Ew. Don’t say that. I don’t want to think about your dad’s loins!”

Scorpius laughs, “But you’re okay with my mother’s loins?”

“Let’s just make a rule that all talk of our parents’ loins is off-limits, yeah?” Scorpius nods his head in agreement. “What time is it anyway?”

“You know, you have a wand of your own. You could cast a _Tempus_ and find out,” Scorpius says.

“I know, but my wand is aaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll the way over there,” Al turns his head and casts his eyes towards the coffee table, where his larch and phoenix feather wand lay resting beside the remote.

Rolling his eyes, Scorpius extracts his wand and casts a _Tempus_ , a glowing ‘09:08’ hovering in the air above them. “Perfect, plenty of time for more sleep before we have to start getting ready for tonight,” Albus says as he throws off the blanket and sits up. Scorpius immediately misses the warm weight on his thigh.

Al stands up and stretches, twisting his upper body from left to right a few times and groaning. Then he turns around and holds his hand out to Scorpius, who takes it and is promptly hauled off of the sofa by Albus’ strong pull. Albus seems to hesitate a moment, still holding onto Scorpius’ hand, but then he lets go and Scorpius thinks he must have just been imagining the tension.

“See you in a few hours, Scorp,” Al says, then he’s gone, heading down the hallway to his room and closing the door.

Scorpius trudges down to his own room and closes the door behind him, casting a quick _Muffliato_ charm before taking out the enchanted typewriter.

I did it. I finally told Al that I’m gay.

He runs through the previous day in his head with a huge smile blooming on his face. He’s incredibly excited about his promotion, but he thinks that the highlight of the day was actually the amazing dinner out with Albus. Not surprising really; he thinks Albus will always be the highlight of his day. A giddy euphoria effervesces through him that Albus knows that he’s gay and doesn’t seem at all disturbed by it. He knows that not everyone is so lucky as to have their coming out be so painless, and he sends out a prayer of gratitude for the amazing people in his life.

I did it. I finally told Al that I’m gay.

That’s amazing. You’re so brave. :) How did he take the news?

Scorpius can’t help but smile at the little happy face.

I did it. I finally told Al that I’m gay.

That’s amazing. You’re so brave. :) How did he take the news?

He was great. I am very lucky.

The machine sits quietly for a few minutes and then the keys depress, typing out the return message.

I did it. I finally told Al that I’m gay.

That’s amazing. You’re so brave. :) How did he take the news?

He was great. I am very lucky.

If you ask me, he’s the lucky one. Tell me all about it.

Scorpius settles in and relates all the wonderful things that happened to him yesterday, answering the occasional question. Eventually he’s related the entire story and his admirer congratulates him and wishes him a good time tonight. Scorpius wishes him a happy new year and then removes the current paper from the typewriter, replacing it with a new sheet. He slides the sheet with their most recent messages onto the bottom of the pile in his bedside drawer. He hasn’t decided what he wants to do with them yet, but he couldn’t bring himself to throw the pages away—Al has always said he’s a total sap, but he prefers sentimental.

He strips out of his day-old clothes and slips into his silky, green pyjamas and between the sheets. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to go back to sleep, but before he knows it he’s coming awake to the rushing sound of water through pipes that tell him Albus is taking a shower. He stretches, enjoying the snug pocket of warmth that has built up before he reluctantly throws back the covers and trods into the bathroom to start getting ready for tonight.

A little while later, Scorpius steps out of his room and walks down to the kitchen, where he can hear Albus moving around. “Are you going to make me one?” Scorpius asks as he enters the kitchen and watches Al pour a couple of fingers of spiced rum into a glass tumbler before topping it up with Coke.

“Maybe I will if you ask nicel—” Albus looks up at him and a startled look takes over his face. His eyes scan up and down Scorpius slowly, lazily, and he’s just beginning to feel self-conscious and considering a change of outfits since he’s obviously gone wrong somewhere with this one. He’s just about to excuse himself when Al finally continues, “Wow, Scorp. You look amazing!”

A gush of satisfaction runs through him at Albus’ appreciation, and he looks down at himself. He has decided to go out of his comfort zone a little and has eschewed his normal style of monochrome and simple for something a little more exciting. He’s donned skinny-legged black jeans and paired them with a maroon button-up that has a golden sheen to it and a burgundy, velour blazer. He bought the outfit months ago in a fit of impetuousness that was fueled by too much caffeine and Rose’s insistence. He promptly buried the items in the back of his wardrobe and has never even taken them out until today.

“You think? It’s not too...flashy?” he asks uncertainly.

Albus gives him another once-over and, again, he feels a flush warm him at the attention. “No. I think it’s the perfect amount of flash. You’re going to have to beat the men off with a stick.”

Albus gives him a licentious wink and he snorts. “Well seeing as how we are going to a party at the Burrow, I highly doubt that.”

Albus looks contemplative for a moment, before he responds, “Well, Uncle Charlie is supposed to be there, so I’m sure he will appreciate it.” An odd look flicks across his face but before Scorpius can pin down what it was, it’s gone and Al is grinning at him.

“Somehow I doubt that a boring financial analyst will stir the loins of an honest-to-Merlin dragon wrangler,” Scorpius says, rolling his eyes.

“Ugh, what is it with you and ‘loins’ all of a sudden? New rule: boycott on all loin talk from now on!” As Al protests, he reaches into their cabinet, removes a second tumbler, and pours a drink for Scorpius.

Taking the proffered drink, Scorpius sniggers. “What about if I’ve got a craving for beef tenderloin?”

Al laughs. “Drink up, you prat.”

Scorpius takes a drink and almost coughs—Al has used a heavy hand when pouring and the drink is incredibly strong. Setting it down on the counter, he notices a long, narrow envelope propped up against the backsplash. “What’s this?” he asks as he reaches out and picks up the envelope, which he sees has his name typed into the front.

“That arrived for you while you were asleep. It must be today’s gift from your admirer. What’s this? Day 7?”

Scorpius nods and then rips open the envelope and pulls out a sleeve. Opening it up, he’s shocked to find that it contains two round-trip Portkey tickets, dated February 11th and two tickets for a 7-day Mediterranean cruise.

Looking over his shoulder, Al whistles, “He’s confident, isn’t he? Assuming you guys will be together and ready to take a cruise together for Valentine’s Day? That’s a...um...bold gift.”

Scorpius looks up at Albus in horror, “I can’t accept this! It’s too much!”

Albus watches him for a moment and then shrugs. “It’s not like the tickets are for tomorrow. Hold onto them until you find out who this guy—I assume it’s a guy?—is and see how you feel. You can always return them if you think he’s a wanker.”

Scorpius nods his head weakly and stares down at the extravagant gift. He carefully slides the tickets back into the envelope and replaces it against the backsplash, picking up his drink and taking a deep gulp.

★★★

Rose squeals and before he knows it her arms are around him and he is being tugged into one of her bone-breaking squeezes that she likes to call hugs. “I can’t believe you finally told him! I’m so proud of you! And? How did it go? Everything alright between you two?” she asks, pulling away and running a scrutinising look over his features. Sometimes it feels a bit like she’s a Terminator; able to scan his body and analyse him with machine-like efficiency. Her powers of observation are unparalleled—except, perhaps, by her mother—and they’re the reason that she has known that he is gay almost as long as he has.

“Don’t worry, Rose. Everything is fine. He took it extremely well and nothing’s changed between us.”

“Nothing?” Rather than relieved, Rose’s face is a blend of surprise, disappointment, and annoyance.

Those moments of tension between him and Al, that Scorpius still isn’t sure he hasn’t imagined, flash through his mind and he brushes them aside and pastes a reassuring smile on his face. “Nope, we’re completely fine. He has been amazing and hasn’t treated me any differently.”

“Hmm,” she still doesn’t look appeased, but her face clears and she gives Scorpius a fond smile. “That’s wonderful, Scorpius. I’m really happy for you. I’m going to go get us a couple of refills, and then you’re going to catch me up on this secret admirer of yours.”

Rose plucks the glass out of his hand and strides towards the refreshment table which, in typical Weasley fashion, is overflowing with enough different foods to feed a small army. While she’s gone, Hugo comes up to him and they make small talk, Hugo informing him about his last year at Hogwarts, what NEWT subjects he’s taking (DADA, Herbology, Charms, Transfiguration and Potions), and his plan to enter the Healer training course after graduation.

Hugo is just telling him all about the time in Transfiguration class when Bethany Vane accidentally transfigured her bunny rabbit into a vibrator when Scorpius spots Rose and Albus exchanging what looks like heated words across the room. He watches as Rose pokes her finger aggressively into Albus’ chest as he holds up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. His lips are moving, but Scorpius can’t make out what he’s saying, but it seems to be working to settle Rose’s ire because she crosses her arms in front of her chest and gives him a level stare. Tentatively, Al reaches out and places a hand on her shoulder and she doesn’t make a move to shake it off. Al says something else to her and gives her one of his patented grins and the tension dissolves from her body and the two embrace, Albus placing a kiss on the bushy hair on her head.

“And then when she panicked and tried to transfigure it back, it just grew two rabbit legs and started vibrating and hopping around the desk. It was hilarious! Professor Papillon had to cast an _Immobulus_ on it before she was able to transfigure it back!”

Scorpius’ attention is drawn back to Hugo at the loud braying laughter that the young man lets out and Scorpius laughs along with him.

“It’s five minutes to midnight! Everyone bundle up and come outside,” Mrs Weasley’s surprisingly loud voice booms out over the din of various conversations and everyone starts moving toward the kitchen and out onto the front lawn. As he approaches the door, Molly hands him a large metal pot and a wooden spoon and gives him a fond smile, “Here you go, dear. It’s important to make lots of noise when ringing in the New Year to chase away any evil spirits.”

“Thank you, Mrs Weasley.” Scorpius takes the kitchen paraphernalia with a smile.

“Molly, dear. Please call me Molly,” she corrects.

“Thank you, Molly,” he says as she ushers him out of the door and into the clean, winter air. A dome of Atmospheric Regulation Charms have been cast around the yard, leaving the air cool and crisp, but not biting with the December sub-zero temperatures.

A sea of redheads litter the lawn, talking in small groups of two or three and dressed in their finest frippery for the occasion. Scorpius moves off to the side and takes in the festive, familial atmosphere. He has always loved coming to the Burrow, with its bustling, frenetic energy and it’s at its finest when it’s bursting at the seams with the whole family. It’s so very different from the small, reserved family affairs that are part of the Malfoy holiday traditions, and though he loves his family, being included as part of the confusion of Weasleys is a blessing he’s not entirely sure he’s deserving of.

Albus and Rose walk up to him, taking up spots on either side, and Rose holds out a glass of mulled wine for him. He takes it, gratefully, and takes a sip, letting the rich spices of the drink rinse over his tongue before swallowing, spreading the glowing warmth down his torso.

“Thirty seconds everyone!” Molly’s voice calls out as she casts an oversized _Tempus_ charm that hangs in the air above them all.

They all watch as the digits tick down, and then it’s 10 seconds and they are all counting backwards at the top of their lungs, barely discernible over the clanging of pots being hit and the other various noisemakers

“Happy New Year!” A symphony of voices can be heard to shout just as the countdown hits zero and then people are breaking off into pairs and hugging and kissing. He’s about to turn to Rose to give her their traditional New Year’s Eve kiss when Albus is hauling him around and taking his head between his strong hands and kissing him. It’s lightning fast and isn’t anything close to sensual, but Scorpius doesn’t care, as a thrill of excitement runs through him: they say that who you kiss at midnight will be who you will be kissing all year long. Of course, that’s just a silly superstition, but these superstitions must be born out of something, right?

He comes back to himself to find Albus, inches away, smiling broadly at him. His hands let go of Scorpius’ head and then he’s sliding his arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. He only hears the whispered “Happy New Year” because it’s said right next to his ear, the warm breath washing over his skin, making him shiver. Belatedly, his arms come up and wrap uncertainly around Albus’ waist. He feels off-centre and unbalanced and he doesn’t know what just happened. He looks over Albus’ shoulder and sees the other partygoers hugging each other and wishing each other good tidings for the coming year and nobody seems to have noticed anything has changed and that Scorpius’ world has gone topsy-turvy in the blink of an eye.

Albus pulls away and Scorpius reluctantly lets his arms drop away. Albus is giving him a wide, happy grin and he seems completely ignorant of the reaction he has set off. Then he’s turning away from Albus and is wishing Rose a happy new year and they’re embracing and Scorpius feels like an idiot. The kiss didn’t mean anything. It was just Albus following a tradition and he just happened to be the nearest warm body at the pivotal moment.

Scorpius shakes himself and then hugs Rose, grimacing as he swears he can feel his bones crunch together. Rose releases him and watches him, her face scrunching up for a second before she asks, “Everything alright?”

Pasting a false grin on his face that he’s sure won’t fool her but he has to try anyway, he quickly responds, “Of course! Happy new year!” He takes another sip of his mulled wine, suddenly feeling the driving urge to get right and truly plastered.

“So, catch me up on this secret admirer or yours, yeah?” Rose asks.

Just then, someone is clearing their throat and calling for attention and everyone is turning towards George, who is standing on the far side of the yard. “Attention ladies and gentlemen. I have an announcement.”


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

_January 1st, 2026_

 

“Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes received a special order for fireworks, so, without further ado: Scorpius, this is for you.” Scorpius can feel countless eyes turn towards him in keen interest and then George is bending down and setting the tip of his wand to a firework canister which is standing upright in the snow. The fuse is lit, and the little flame climbs rapidly up the short length and disappears inside the canister, sending the whole thing soaring up into the air.

Everyone turns their attention away from him and up into the sky to see the pinpoint of light traveling up against the dark sky, and then it erupts and everyone’s faces are lit up with the shining light as a giant, glowing peacock feather, lit up in a palette of gemstone colours, bursts to life in the sky and begins scrawling across the sky, leaving a trail of glowing lights in the path its tip follows. The swirls and loops slide to a stop and the feather lifts, drifts back, and descends once more before it fades away, leaving a final glowing dot of light and his name glowing in the sky.

George has made his way over to him and hands him an envelope, his name once again typed across the front. “Someone thinks very highly of you, mate.”

Scorpius gives him a small, nervous smile and takes the offered envelope with a quiet ‘thank you’. Scorpius rips open the envelope and pulls out the note card and reads the message to himself:

You’re named after the stars, and now your name is written in the stars. 8 twinkling letters shining brightly.

He can feel the whole Weasley clan watching him in confusion, obviously still under the impression that he and Rose are dating, and he wants to take her aside and apologize since her life has just become more complex, but then she’s stepping forward and addressing her family.

“Right, this seems like a good time. Scorpius and I are not, in fact, dating. We’re only friends because,” here, Rose takes a deep breath, preparing herself, “I’m aro/ace.”

Her declaration is met with stunned silence. Or perhaps just silence? After a few moments, Ron clears his throat and asks, “That’s wonderful, hunny. Only, what does that mean, exactly?”

Hermione rolls her eyes but turns a fond smile to her husband. “It means that she’s not romantically or sexually attracted to anyone.”

Ron sits, brows drawn together as he contemplates this new information, and then a look of relief takes over his face, “Oh, well that’s not so bad. Actually, that’s bloody brilliant! Now I don’t need to worry about some numpty breaking her heart!” Hermione rolls her eyes once more, but then she and Ron are stepping forward and wrapping their oldest in a tight hug.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetie. I’m very glad that you told us,” Hermione says in a low voice, which Scorpius only manages to hear since he happens to still be standing very close to Rose.

Rose gives her mother a calculating look. “You knew, didn’t you?”

Hermione shrugs. “I had my suspicions. You know that I love you, right?”

Rose nods her head and then rests it against her mother’s shoulder.

Ron looks up and grins mischievously at Scorpius. “The only downside of this is I guess you’re not going to be marrying into the family someday. I was really looking forward to the look on ol’ Ferret-Face’s face when you became one of the Weasley clan.”

“Ronald!” Hermione smacks Ron on the arm, making him wince. “You are a grown man. I wish you’d start acting like one and stop clinging to these ridiculous schoolyard rivalries.”

Ron shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly and turns an unrepentant look at his perturbed wife, “Everyone needs hobbies, Hermione.” She manages to maintain her stern expression for a few seconds and then a smile is cracking its way through and she laughs.

Hermione pulls away from Rose and turns towards Scorpius as the rest of Rose’s family comes up to give her a reassuring hug and voice their support for her. “I want to thank you for always being such a good friend to my daughter.”

Scorpius blushes at the unnecessary thanks, “There’s no need to thank me, Mrs Granger-Weasley.”

“Well, anyway, I want you to know that you’re always welcome in our home. You’ll always be considered a part of our family.” Hermione casts a quick glance over his shoulder and then a knowing smile flits across her face. “In one way or another.”

Scorpius is attempting to unravel her words when she pulls him into a quick hug and then Victoire is there and is gushing about “ _‘ow very romantic eet all iz”_ and peppering him with questions about who sent the fireworks and then she’s demanding the whole story, and it’s not until twenty minutes later that he’s finally able to extract himself.

Needing some quiet time, Scorpius casts a Disillusionment Charm on himself and slips back in through the kitchen and ascends the Burrow’s many flights of jaunty stairs until he reaches the attic. Since the Weasley’s ghoul had died, the attic had been retooled and put to use as a bedroom, which are always in short supply at the Burrow now that there are quite a few grandchildren added to the ranks.

Scorpius pushes open the dormer window and crawls out onto the sloped roof, careful not to slip on the winter-slick tiles, and sits, legs crossed. He sits there, alone, looking up at the sky, watching as the faint trace of his name slowly dissolves into the darkness of the night.

“I thought I might find you up here,” Rose says as she crawls out of the window and takes a spot beside him. “It’s freezing up here.”

Taking out her wand, she casts a Warming Charm that encompasses both of them and, though he honestly hadn’t noticed the cold until she mentioned it, he thanks her. “Well, that was a bold move,” Rose notes drily.

A reluctant laugh pushes its way out of him. “You could say that. Listen, Rose, I’m really sorry. I should have talked to you about all of this and what it might mean for you earlier. I’ve just been...I don’t know...reluctant to talk about it.”

“Fortunately I’d already decided that my new year’s resolution was going to be to live my truth this year, so I should be thanking your secret admirer. I think this may be a new record for resolution accomplishment.”

“Rose…” Scorpius knows that Rose is deflecting, but they really need to talk this out. He wants to make sure that he and Rose are okay and that she isn’t angry with him.

Rose sighs and shrugs her shoulders, looking straight ahead, out over the edge of the roof and over the snow-covered fields surrounding the Burrow. “You don’t need to be sorry, Scorp. I think we’ve both become a little complacent with our arrangement. It was just easier, you know? Not having to answer all those questions and potentially disappoint everyone.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was,” Scorpius agrees.

“Just because it was easy, doesn’t mean it was right though,” she continues. “My family deserves my trust. And you deserve to find someone that will love you.”

“Are you saying that you don’t love me?”

Rose gives him a light punch on the arm. “Stop fishing, you prat. You know that I love you.” Rose reaches out and takes his hand in hers, interlocking their fingers together. “What I meant is that you deserve to find someone that will love you in the way that you deserve. You shouldn’t settle for a pseudo-romantic relationship just because it’s safer than putting yourself out there.”

He gives her hand a squeeze. “I know, it’s just...I don’t know how you’re so unflappable about all of this.”

Rose laughs. “It was only a matter of time before I knew it was going to come out. You didn’t really think we’d just carry on as we were indefinitely, did you?”

Scorpius shrugs his shoulders, “No, I guess not.”

“You did!” Rose’s laugh is deep and goes on for longer than Scorpius thinks is strictly necessary.

“Yes, thanks ever so, Rose. I know you think I’m a bit daft.” His embarrassment is making him prickly. Obviously, he knew that they couldn’t just go on letting people assume they were dating forever because eventually people were going to expect them to get married and start having children and all that baggage that comes with heteronormativity, it’s just that he kind of...compartmentalized that fact. Self-delusion can be wonderfully convenient sometimes.

Rose slips her hand out of his and wraps it around his shoulders, shimmying closer to him, then leans her head down onto his shoulder. “I don’t think you’re daft. I just think your powers of self-delusion are incomparable.”

 _Merlin, she knows me well,_ Scorpius thinks, amused that she’s just voiced aloud his own thought near perfectly. “So how did everyone take the news? You haven’t been banished from the Weasley family clock, have you?”

Rose chuckles, head still resting against his shoulder. “Mum and dad were fine with it, though I’m pretty sure dad’s going to be pelting mum with questions about it tonight when they go home. She says she started to suspect I might be on the asexuality spectrum when she was reading that book about sexuality that she bought for Uncle Harry just before he came out as bisexual.”

“What did your grandmother say?”

Rose sighs. “Nan’s struggling with it. She’s just so happy with Papa, and she is worried that I’ll be lonely without a partner. I think she’ll come around though.” Rose laughs. “She seemed to cheer up when Teddy pointed out I could always adopt a baby.”

Scorpius laughs in surprise and Rose joins in with an unladylike snort, which only makes Scorpius laugh even harder. “She’s certainly consistent,” Scorpius manages to spit out, and the two dissolve into a fresh round of giggles.

Settling, Rose smiles softly. “She’ll come around. They didn’t really talk about any of this stuff when she was growing up, so it’s all a little new for her.”

“Here’s where you’re hiding.” They turn around to see Al leaning out of the window, shivering in the cool air. “Any room for me out there?”

Rose rolls to the side and pushes herself up to standing. “You can take my spot. I’m going to head back down to the party. Uncle George and Papa were talking about transfiguring one of the sitting room chairs into a mechanical bull and holding a contest to see who can hang on the longest. They’re probably deep enough into their cups by now that it’s going to be coming to fruition soon. Don’t stay out here too long; you won’t want to miss it.”

Scorpius smiles at the mental image as Rose disappears inside once more and Al climbs through and settles down beside him. They sit silently for a minute and then Al leans over, knocking lightly into Scorpius’ side. “You okay?”

Scorpius looks to Al and gives him a weak smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just been a lot to take in. First with the vacation, then the fireworks in front of everyone.”

“Are you angry? Are you upset that the family knows now?” Albus asks, sounding nervous.

Scorpius feels a warm glow of contentment at Albus’ implication that he’s part of the family. “No, I’m not angry. I felt guilty that Rose was dragged along for the ride, but she doesn’t seem to be upset about it. She said she wanted to start “living her truth” this year anyway, so this has given her a jumpstart on her goal for the year.”

Al chuckles beside him, “That sounds like Rose. She’s always been a fan of schedules and deadlines.” Al shifts beside him, pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around them. “So, two dud gifts in a row. This secret admirer’s batting average is taking a nosedive.”

Scorpius shakes his head slowly. “I wouldn’t say that. They’re just...big.”

Albus scoffs. “You have to admit, it was pretty romantic. Writing your name across the sky like that.”

“Yeah, yeah it was,” Scorpius agrees.

“So he’s not a lost cause then?” Al asks tentatively, resting his chin on his knees.

Scorpius turns and observes his best friend. He’s obviously trying to reach out and show Scorpius that he’s comfortable with the fact that his best friend is suddenly bent, but he looks uncomfortable discussing it, and Scorpius’ heart clenches. Rose is right; he needs to find someone who can love him the way he deserves. He has no doubt that Al loves him, but he’ll never get that romantic, all-consuming kind of love that he craves from him.

Turning away, Scorpius looks up into the sky where his name had been written. It has faded away, but if he closes his eyes, he can picture the bright, twinkling dots of light. “No, he’s not a lost cause.” He pushes himself up onto his feet and dusts off his trousers. “Come on, let’s go back inside. We don’t want to miss that bull riding competition.”

He holds his hand down to Albus and helps pull him to standing, and the two of them head back inside and down to the lounge, which is full-to-bursting with raucous Weasleys. Hugo, Teddy, and Roxanne are levitating various pieces of furniture into a stack against one wall while Arthur stands in the middle of the room, putting some tweaks and final adjustments on the large mechanical bull that they’ve transfigured. George is circling the room with a small notebook and quill in hand, writing down wagers.

“I have a feeling this will all seem like a jolly good idea if we’re plastered. I know where Papa keeps the really good Ogden’s Old Firewhisky vintage...what do you say?” Al asks, rising up on his toes so he can whisper the invitation in a low voice near Scorpius’ ear.

Scorpius turns to Al and grins. That sounds like a fantastic idea.

★★★

 _Ugh. That was a HORRID idea_ , is Scorpius’ first thought when he wakes up later that day, head pounding and mouth parched. He feels like a herd of thestrals have stampeded all over him. Tentatively, he opens his eyes a sliver and immediately recoils as the razor-sharp sunlight streaming through his windows attacks his eyeballs.

He rolls onto his back, keeping his eyes closed, and a wave of nausea washes over him as his head spins. If he didn’t know better, he would swear that he was on a boat, his body seeming to sway back and forth, gravity playing tricks on him.

A groan issues from beside him and he turns his head in shock—which was an atrocious idea since it causes his stomach to perform a backflip and he wrestles with the need to chunder. He takes several long deep breaths, his mouth filling with a rush of saliva, as he fights nausea. Eventually, he manages to suppress the urge and he wrestles his eyes open. Al is lying in the bed beside him on his stomach, face turned towards him with one half buried and out of sight in the pillow. Al’s hair is a tangled mess, the long strands hanging down over one bright green eye, which is encircled by soft pink rather than white.

“Uuuugggghhhh,” Albus moans. “Why did we do that?”

Scorpius wrestles with another wave of nausea and it’s a minute or so before he feels safe opening his mouth to respond, “If I remember correctly, the Firewhisky was your bright idea.”

“Yeah, but you’re supposed to be the voice of reason between the two of us.”

Scorpius is about to respond with something undoubtedly pithy when the war he’s been waging suddenly swings and he is forced to hurl himself out of bed and towards the bathroom. He only just manages to drop down in front of the toilet, and then his whole body is heaving, all of that delicious Weasley food evacuating from his body in violent retches.

He can feel a sticky heat breaking out across his neck when suddenly there’s a cool, damp cloth being placed across it and a soothing hand is rubbing wide circles around his back. “I’ve grabbed you a Hangover-Over Potion when you think you can handle it.”

Scorpius groans as a fresh wave of nausea sweeps over him, and it’s a few minutes before his stomach has settled enough for him to right himself and lean back from the toilet. He holds his hands out, eyes closed, and a slim glass bottle is placed in his hand without him having to ask. He takes a few deep, steadying breaths and then throws the potion back, swallowing it down in one large gulp. He shudders at the bitter taste, but then it’s worth it as he can feel his stomach start to settle down and the pounding ache in his head ebbs.

He crashes back against the wall of the bathroom and leans his head back against the tiles with his eyes closed, letting the potion finish its job. He can hear Albus settle next to him, but it’s a minute or so before he trusts himself enough to speak, “Thanks. That stuff tastes foul.”

Albus lets out a short chuckle. “Yeah, it kind of tastes like troll toe jam.”

“I’d say closer to unicorn piss,” Scorpius retorts, keeping his eyes closed.

“Tried unicorn piss, have ya?” Al asks in an amused tone.

Scorpius turns his head to meet Albus’ gaze. “And have you tried troll toe jam, then?”

Al laughs, “So are you feeling better now?”

Scorpius considers the question for a moment, taking a mental inventory of his ailments. The skull-pounding headache is mostly gone, and his stomach has settled right down, but he’s knackered and his body is aching in strange places, undoubtedly thanks to the fact that he let Rose cajole him into taking a turn on the mechanical bull. He remembers that he managed to last the requisite 8 seconds, but he’s paying for it now, the inside of his thighs feel bruised and aching.

“A tad, but I feel like I’ve been trampled by an irate erumpent.”

Al pushes himself up and then bends down and helps pull Scorpius up off the floor. “Come on. Let’s you and I have a lie-in day.”

“We’re already out of bed though—speaking of, why were you sleeping in my bed anyway?” Scorpius asks.

“It’s all a little hazy because I ended up getting pretty shit-faced, but I think Rose and Hugo had to Apparate us back here, and they just thought it would be easier to drop us both together. Now, come on. I say we can still consider it a lie-in as long as we get into our pyjamas and relax for the rest of the day.”

For the first time since he awoke, Scorpius takes a look down at himself and discovers that he’s wearing only a pair of black boxer-briefs. Startled, he looks to Al and is shocked to discover that he, too, is wearing nothing but a pair of striped blue and white boxers. _Merlin, he must be really out of his sorts if he didn’t even notice that they’re both almost naked._

“Yeah, okay. I’ll, um, meet you in the lounge. Maybe we can have a Community binge watch today?”

Al smiles. “Sounds perfect to me. Meet you in there.”

Al departs and Scorpius takes a few minutes to wash his face and brush his teeth, washing away the taste of sick from his mouth. He pulls on a fresh pair of pyjamas and then heads out into the lounge. Al isn’t there, but he can hear sounds from the kitchen and the whistle of the kettle starting up, so he makes himself comfortable on the couch, lying down with his head rested on a pillow on one end and his feet on the other.

He’s just cued up the next episode when Al comes into the living room carrying two mugs of tea, with a plate of digestives resting atop one of them. He places the mugs on the coffee table within reach of each of them, and then sets the plate of biscuits between them, handing two to Scorpius, who takes them gratefully.

Scorpius is just swinging his legs off the other end of the couch and moving to sit up when Albus stops him, telling him to remain as he is, and he lifts Scorpius’ feet and takes a seat, resting them in his lap. Scorpius starts the show and they watch, sipping at their tea and enjoying the bland biscuits.

Scorpius is just starting to drift to sleep when Al takes one of the feet that are resting in his lap and starts massaging it. Scorpius considers briefly telling him he shouldn’t bother—his feet definitely aren’t as fresh and clean as they should be when you’re on the receiving end of a foot rub—but then Al runs a strong thumb down his arch and it feels so incredible that all his noble intentions get chucked out the window.

He twists his upper body to look down at Al, who gives him a kind, muted smile. “Just relax and let me take care of you, Scorp.”

Scorpius relaxes and lets Albus take care of him for the rest of the day, and it feels really lovely.


	13. Chapter 13

 

 

_January 2nd, 2026_

“Happy new year, darling.” His grandmother sashays into the room, the gauzy fabric of her silk billowing behind her. They’re only planning to have a simple family brunch, but his grandmother is as immaculately put together as always: her hair is arranged in a chignon, the streaks of colour on the side of her head crisscrossing at the back and making it look both relaxed and elegant at the same time. Her dress has a black lace pattern, the arms coming to just below her elbow. The lace detail is woven into the shape of a peacock tail, accented with colourful glass beads, and spilling down onto her hip, over the cinched waist of the skirt.

“Is that a new dress?”

Scorpius’ inquiry causes Narcissa’s face to light up with joy. “Why yes, it is! So sweet of you to notice. Do you like it?”

“Yes, it’s beautiful. The beadwork is exquisite,” Scorpius compliments.

“I had it made custom. Jewel tones have always suited my colouring,” Narcissa preens. “Darling, would you be a dear and help me with this clasp?” Narcissa places a silver bracelet that is accented with occasional emeralds around her wrist and holds her arm out for Scorpius. He takes the two ends of the bracelet and manages to unite them after a few attempts. Narcissa takes back her hand and shakes her arm, settling the bracelet down over the base of her hand and inspecting it. “Thank you.”

“I feel like I’m underdressed. Are we going somewhere fancy? Do I need to go home and change?” Scorpius looks down at his simple black trousers and sapphire coloured sweater. He’s not slovenly, by any stretch of the imagination, but he’s certainly dressed more casually than formal.

“Not at all,” his grandmother assures him. “I was just feeling a little glum this morning and I thought that dressing up would lighten my spirits. Sometimes a woman of a certain age likes to feel beautiful and eye-catching.”

“You chose an appropriate outfit then,” Scorpius turns to see his father entering the room from his office. Crossing the room, he and Narcissa exchange two cheek kisses and pull apart. “You look beautiful, Mother.”

Draco turns to him and greets him with a brief “Son” before giving him a quick hug.

Removing his pocket watch from the small pocket in his waistcoat, Draco flicks open the lid of the watch and frowns. “We should hurry so we don’t miss our reservations.”

His father is dressed in a bespoke three-piece pinstripe suit. The pocket watch chain runs from the pocket, up to the second button on his waistcoat, and then a small chain hangs loose, the Malfoy family crest cast in silver dangling from the end of it. His shirt has thin, mandarin-style collar, with swirling embroidered details lining the button closures on his chest, and his long, white-blonde hair is pulled back and tied at the base of his skull with a long strip of black ribbon.

“I’m definitely underdressed,” Scorpius moans.

“The benefit of youth is that you do not need to go to such lengths to appear dashing. Enjoy it while you can,” Draco smirks, then reaches out his elbows, offering one each to his son and mother. Narcissa winds her arm through her sons and reaches out to place her other arm softly on his as well, looking every inch a graceful debutante about to be promenaded around the room. Scorpius takes his father’s other elbow and then there’s the yanking sensation of Side-Along Apparition and the sensation of being squeezed through a too-small hole, and then they have popped back into existence, in what appears to be a back alley somewhere.

Draco casts a disgusted look at the garbage bins that are overflowing with refuse. “Not an ideal destination, but needs must. This was the closest Ministry-approved Apparition point to the restaurant.”

Scorpius drops his grasp on his father and the three make their way towards the mouth of the alley, where he can see Muggles and vehicles streaming past on the street. His dad looks left and right, and then nods his head, seeming to have pinpointed their location, and turns to the left, leading Narcissa skillfully down the crowded pavement, Scorpius trailing behind them.

After a few blocks, his dad declares, “Ah, here we are,” and holds the door open for his grandmother. Scorpius looks up to the sign of the restaurant and is startled to see that, for the second time in a week he has found himself at the most exclusive restaurant in London. “What’s wrong?” his dad asks.

Scorpius startles and shakes his head. “Nothing, it’s just that I actually ate here three days ago. What are the odds?”

Draco looks shocked. “Given that I practically had to pledge my first-born child for Cuillère d'argent reservations, I would say that the odds are very slim, indeed.”

“Wait, you pledged my life for a reservation at a restaurant?”

Draco scoffs, “Of course not. That was the price for dinner reservations. I settled for brunch instead; that only required my second-born.”

“Good thing you aren’t planning on having any more children.”

“Precisely. I couldn’t resist,” Draco deadpans until, after a moment, a small smile pulls at his mouth and they both laugh. “Come on, get inside. Your grandmother will be thinking we’ve abandoned her.”

They enter the restaurant to find Narcissa has made her way to the bar and seems to be flirting coyly with the auburn-haired, young bartender. Draco rolls his eyes and mutters something about “may as well be a Weasley”, and then he steps up to the maître d's podium. Scorpius makes his way over to the bar and retrieves his grandmother, who gives the bartender a breathy ‘thanks’ before turning away and walking back towards her son, the bartender’s gaze lingering on her bum, which is accentuated by the slim-fitting dress. Scorpius trails after her, chuckling to himself.

“Aren’t you a little old to be flirting with strapping bartenders, mother?” Draco asks dryly.

“You’re never too old for a little flirtation, sweetheart. Some coquetry would serve you well.”

Draco is about to retort when the maître d' approaches them and tells them that their table is ready. Draco ushers Narcissa to follow the maître d' with a hand on her lower back and Scorpius follows behind them. Reaching their table, Draco pulls out one of the chairs and holds it for Narcissa, scooping the chair in under her as she gracefully lowers herself. Draco claims the seat beside her and Scorpius the one across from her.

They chat idly for a few minutes until their server comes over and relates the specials and takes their order. Once they have all selected their meals and the waiter leaves them once more, his dad turns to him, “Now, how did you manage to dine twice in one week in the most illustrious restaurant in London? For the next couple of weeks, anyway.”

“It was the gift from my secret admirer on day six: a six-course meal here for Al and me. It was all paid for and everything.”

One of Draco’s eyebrows lifts into a distinct point. “You mean to tell me that your ‘secret admirer’ arranged a meal for you and another man?” he asks sceptically.

“It’s not like that. There’s supposed to be twelve days of courtship gifts coming, and they didn’t want to reveal themselves prior to day twelve, and since the reservation was for two, taking a friend seemed like the obvious choice. Better than eating alone,” Scorpius finishes.

“Hmmm,” his dad sounds unconvinced. “That’s one explanation for it. So how did this _mystery_ person manage to procure reservations?”

Scorpius hadn’t actually considered that until now and he feels slightly foolish. How _did_ he manage to get the super-exclusive table? “I-I don’t actually know.”

Impossibly, his dad’s eyebrow seems to reach an even higher peak. “Must be someone very powerful indeed. Or they must know someone very powerful.”

“He sounds like a keeper, darling,” Narcissa says. Bending forward over the table, she reaches out and places her hand over Scorpius’, laying on the table. “And don’t feel like you need to use neutral pronouns on my behalf. I know I’m not ‘hip’, but it doesn’t matter a jot to me if you love a man rather than a woman.”

Narcissa leans back and Scorpius gives her a relieved smile before turning to his father, “Thanks for breaking the news to her.”

Draco looks slightly amused, “I didn’t.” At Scorpius’ confused expression, he elaborates, “It wasn’t my news to share.”

Scorpius turns back to his grandmother in surprise, “Then how did you—”

Narcissa laughs, a soft twinkling sound. “You and your father are so alike. You both think that you’re so subtle and indecipherable, while anyone with a shred of observation skills can clearly see that you’re a lost cause for your Potters.”

Father and son both throw shocked looks at Narcissa and she laughs boisterously. “You two are a treat! Draco, dear, your face!”

Scorpius wouldn’t dare say so to his father, but he happens to agree with his grandmother about the ridiculous expression on Draco’s face right now. He has admitted, to himself at least, that he’s been in love with Albus for years, but Draco looks like he’s just been slapped across the face with the grilled salmon dish he’s ordered to eat.

“I assure you that I am not a “lost cause” for _Potter_. The idea is so preposterous that it boggles the mind that you could ever come to such a strange conclusion.” He is staring intently at Narcissa, and though his words and tone suggest confidence in what he’s saying, Scorpius can see that he has begun rolling the corner of his napkin into a tight roll in his lap. He’s more nervous than he’s letting on. “I barely know the man.”

Narcissa stares calmly back at her testy son, the patented Malfoy smirk gracing her lips. “Sweetheart, you have been proclaiming your ‘hatred’ of that man for over 30 years now. Every time you two cross paths at the Ministry, you come home in a right boil and I get to listen to you rant and rave about how ‘ _wonderful he thinks he is_ ’ when really the only person that thinks he’s wonderful is you.”

Draco scoffs and Narcissa corrects herself, “Okay, well perhaps the rest of the wizarding world does as well, but I’ve had the pleasure of speaking to Mr Potter multiple times at various Ministry social events and have found him to be refreshingly down-to-Earth.”

Draco crosses his arms in a slight pout. Narcissa turns to Scorpius, who wipes the amused grin off of his face as he feels the full force of her formidable gaze pointed at him. “And nothing but your Albus makes your face light up as if you’ve swallowed the sun.”

Scorpius averts his eyes, blushing at his grandmother so baldly stating, what he had thought, were his innermost feelings. “He’s not _my_ Albus,” he mumbles.

Narcissa scoffs, “Don’t be ridiculous. That boy is as gone for you as you are for him.”

“Mother,” Draco groans.

Scorpius squirms uncomfortably as that treacherous little worm of hope wiggles inside of him.

Narcissa sighs. “Self-delusion definitely stems from the Malfoy side of the family. Thank you.”

Draco and Scorpius exchange a quick look of relief as the waiter appears at the tableside with their food. His stomach is still churning a bit from the uncomfortable conversation, but he takes an appreciative whiff of the lobster tortellini in white wine cream sauce and he can feel his hunger returning. His dad pokes at his salmon and the steamed broccoli on his plate for a moment until he looks satisfied and tucks in. Scorpius looks across the table to see his grandmother cutting off tiny bites of her rare-cooked, filet mignon.

“You have yet to tell us about your new job. Does it come with an office of your own?” his dad asks.

Scorpius happily seizes on the change of subject and for the rest of the meal, he and his father manage to steer the conversation away from their romantic lives—or lack thereof—and he regales them with every detail he can conceive of about his new job.

 

★★★

 

The lift doors are just sliding shut when he hears a call of “Hold the door!” and he scrambles to push the button to open the doors once more. Mrs Rafferty climbs into the lift and greets him, “Thank you, Scorpius, dear. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

Scorpius smiles kindly at her, “I have some banked holiday days that I was told I have to take.”

“How lovely, and where have you been out and about?”

“I was just having brunch with my father and grandmother.”

The old lady claps her hands together in joy. “You’re such a sweet child, having meals out with your family. When my children were your age they would have rather rode the Eye in the buff than go out for a meal in public with their lame mother.”

Scorpius laughs, “I’m sure you were never lame, ma’am.”

“Such a sweet boy. You tell that messy-haired chap of yours that he’s got a real keeper.” The lady waves as she exits on her floor, and it isn’t until the doors are sliding closed behind her that Scorpius realizes that he’s neglected to correct her.

Unlocking the front door, Scorpius steps into the front hallway and he’s instantly hit with the fresh smell of lemons. Slipping off his shoes, he walks into the living room and takes a look around. He had planned to spend the rest of the afternoon cleaning, but it looks like his afternoon is now free since it looks like a professional cleaning crew has been through the whole place. The stacks of dishes that accumulated yesterday during their lazy day in have all been cleared away and the glass surface of the coffee table is wiped down perfectly and doesn’t have a single fingerprint anymore. The grey carpet has been vacuumed and he can see the crisscrossing lines that trace the path of the action.

Turning around, he walks into the kitchen to find it spotless. The dishwasher is emitting soft whooshing sounds and the cupboards have all been cleared of detritus and wiped clean.

“Oh, you’re home. I didn’t hear you come in.” Scorpius spins around to find Al walking into the kitchen, a mug held in one hand. “I was just about to make myself a fresh cup of tea. Do you want one?”

“That would be great, cheers,” Scorpius says. “The place looks amazing. Did you hire someone in to clean?”

“What? You don’t think I’m capable of some basic cleaning?” Al jokes while filling the kettle with a wordless _Aguamenti_ from his wand.

“Not incapable, just uninterested,” Scorpius replies. Albus isn’t slovenly, but nobody would describe him as fastidious either.

Al turns on the hob and a bright blue flame erupts into life. He turns the gas down until the flame is a low, steady burn, and then he sets the kettle on the stove. He spins around and leans back against the other side of the stove, crossing his arms across his chest. “I just thought you would appreciate coming home to a clean apartment.”

Scorpius grins at him and, on impulse, walks over and wraps his arms around Al’s neck in a hug. Al’s arms uncross between them and wrap around Scorpius’s waist, pulling him in a little closer. The hug goes on longer than he had been intending, and he would almost swear he hears Albus inhale deeply against his hair, and then they’re pulling apart.

Scorpius looks around nervously, unsure what to do. That hug felt…odd. Not entirely friendly. He’s not sure how long they stand there, close, but not touching, and then Albus clears his throat and breaks the tense silence, “Do I get another hug when you find out that I also did your laundry?”

Scorpius laughs and gives Al a friendly shove before turning to head to his room. He walks into the room to find his laundry, as promised, folded and stacked into neat little piles on his bed. He puts away the trousers, shirts, and socks, then blushes violently when he gets to the neatly folded pile of pants and he realizes that Albus has been handling his undies, carefully folding them. He hastily replaces the undergarments in their proper place and is just about to head back out to find Al and see if he wants to watch a movie or something when he notices a brown paper-wrapped item resting on his pillow.

He circles around the foot of the bed and picks up the small parcel, which feels like it may be a book. There is a small, folded note card attached to the front of the package and he flips it open to find a single sentence:

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, and nine brave souls dedicated to destroying the One.

Excited, Scorpius hastily removes the note and sets it inside his bedside table on top of the pile of notes he’s exchanged with his admirer and then he rips into the plain wrapping. He lets out a gasp when his fingers brush over the smooth, red leather of the bookbinding. He rotates the book, reading the gold lettering on the spine which states that it is _The Fellowship of the Ring_ by J.R.R. Tolkien. The binding is superbly done and he thinks that this must be a First Edition, a suspicion which is confirmed when he carefully lifts the cover to find the “George Allen and Unwin, 1954” on the copyright page, confirming his suspicion.

Setting the book beside him on the bed, Scorpius pulls out the typewriter and returns it to its regular size.

How did you know that The Lord of the Rings is one of my favourite book series?

He taps his wand to the device and watches as the paper slips upwards and his message is sent. Picking the book up once more, he inspects it, turning the pages carefully and greedily inspecting the maps of the fantasy world that he knows so well. He had stumbled across a copy of this very book the summer before he went off to Hogwarts and had spent three sunny days carrying it everywhere he went within the Manor, not wanting to put it down. In the years since, he has probably read the series half a dozen more times since then, and every time he reads it, he finds something new to love about it.

He jumps when the click-clacking of keys interrupts his focused attention and he glances down to see the new message coming through.

How did you know that The Lord of the Rings is one of my favourite book series?

Somebody that feels that strongly about Aragorn must be a fan of the books. Your appreciation seemed to run deeper than a simple love of Viggo Mortensen. :)

Scorpius laughs, remembering their lengthy debate over the relative benefits of Aragorn vs Legolas. He casts another longing glance at the book and then types out a final message:

How did you know that The Lord of the Rings is one of my favourite book series?

Somebody that feels that strongly about Aragorn must be a fan of the books. Your appreciation seemed to run deeper than a simple love of Viggo Mortensen. :)

Other men may make their way in and out of my heart, but Aragorn is there to stay.

Now, leave me be. I have a book to read.

Thank you. I love it.

He taps the device to send the message, removes the paper and adds it to the stack of others, then shrinks the typewriter back down and sets it inside the drawer as well. Then he arranges several of his pillows behind him, leans back against the headboard, and brings his knees up, resting the book against his thigh. An afternoon spent wandering around one of his favourite worlds is definitely more enjoyable than cleaning.


	14. Chapter 14

 

 

_January 3rd, 2026_

Scorpius turns the page and is just about to start the next chapter, where Strider makes his introductions to the party of hobbits, when there’s a knocking at the window. He levers himself around in his seat to see the long, upright ears and intense orange-eyed stare of an owl standing on the windowsill.

Scorpius picks up the soft white peacock feather that he likes to use as a bookmark and marks his place before standing up and pulling open the window. A blast of cold January air rushes in along with the owl, who lets out a soft, elongated hoot and then wings over to settle on the curved back of his chair and holds out one of his legs, which has a large pink envelope tied to it.

For a brief moment of panic, Scorpius thinks that someone has sent him a Howler, but taking a closer look, he notices that the envelope is not the angry, crimson red of a Howler, but more of a muted rouge colour. He unfastens the letter from the owl’s leg, who sits there expectantly until Scorpius walks over to the bookshelf and retrieves one of the owl treats they store there for convenience’s sake. Plucking the treat from between Scorpius’ fingers, the owl swallows it down, lets out another long _hoooo_ and then takes flight again, exiting out through the window.

Scorpius closes the window, blocking out the frosty temperatures once more, and then settles back into his chair. A sweet, ambrosial scent is wafting off of the envelope and he takes a deep breath, filling his lungs. The smell fills him up and it’s almost as if he can feel his body absorbing it, soothing him.

He comes to and realizes that he’s just been sitting here, slowly inhaling and exhaling with his eyes closed for several moments. Pulling his eyes open, almost with a force of will, he looks down at the thick envelope in his hand, which has his name and address typed on the front of it. Turning it over, he finds the envelope sealed shut with a white sealing wax, which stands out in contrast to the envelope. He brings it closer to his face, inspecting the seal but it appears to be a generic stamp from any owlery, an owl mid-flight with wings spread out wide.

Disappointed by the lack of clues, Scorpius slides his finger under the flap of the envelope and carefully pulls apart the wax seal before sliding the card out along with a small bundle of papers tied together with a thin red ribbon. He’s just flipping open the card when he shoots back in his chair in surprise; the room is filled with the soft strumming of a harp and a rain of golden glitter is falling down on him and dusting the surrounding area with sparkles. Scorpius looks around himself at the mess of glitter in horror—this mess is going to take forever to clean up!

Putting off that miserable task, he turns his attention back to the notecard and reads it, and his heart immediately buoys at the first typed words of the message:

I know that you’re probably looking around in horror at the mess right now, but don’t worry. It’s leprechaun glitter. It will disappear on its own in a few hours.

Scorpius chuckles to himself; his secret admirer does seem to know him fairly well. Smiling, he continues on as the harp music continues to play:

I know that you’re probably looking around in horror at the mess right now, but don’t worry. It’s leprechaun glitter. It will disappear on its own in a few hours.

Now that you’ve (hopefully) stopped imagining new and inventive ways to make me pay for the mess, I hope you enjoy this gift for day 10. These are 10 quotes that make me think of you.

Scorpius pulls his feet up onto the chair and settles in, excited to see what quotes his admirer has chosen to reflect him. Untying the bow from the small bundle, he reads the first quote, followed by a brief explanation of the choice.

“We could never learn to be brave and patient if there were only joy in the world.”

Helen Keller

You faced the petty rumour-mongering about you being Voldemort’s heir with dignity and unrelenting bravery, and never let it crush your caring spirit.

A creeping feeling of lingering self-consciousness crawls over him at the memories. It’s been years since that rumour was the talk of the wizarding world, their discovery of Delphine and her origins having finally put a nail in its coffin, but he still remembers the disapproving stares and hushed whispers that seemed to follow him and his family no matter where they went. He had never understood, as a small boy, why people didn’t want their children to play with him; all he had wanted was friends his own age. It wasn’t until he had met Albus on the train that he had found someone that wasn’t ashamed to call him a friend.

With a mixture of sadness and fond remembrance, he turns his attention back to the next quote.

“...the only people that interest me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars...”

Jack Kerouac, On the Road

Scorpius is tempted to roll his eyes at the trite choice but decides to give him a chance and read the explanation first.

“...the only people that interest me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars...”

Jack Kerouac, On the Road

I know, I know. How trite, right? But as overplayed as this quote is, it still sends a thrill of joy through me when I read it. It feels urgent and energetic and like it will not be denied, and that perfectly encapsulated how my feelings for you have evolved. It also reminds me of your nervous energy and how you fill silences with a stream of consciousness that is always entertaining to hear. I love how your mind works.

Scorpius feels a blush warm his cheeks. He would certainly argue that he says many commonplace things, but it’s flattering to think that he inspires that feeling of frenetic energy in someone. Intrigued, he moves onto the third quote.

“Intelligence is nothing without delight.”

Paul Claudel

I may not understand some of the topics that interest you, but I will never tire of watching your face light up when you speak about them. Your excitement is infectious.

Casting a glance at the foot-tall pile of books on the end table beside him that he has been working his way through for research, Scorpius laughs. Just this morning he was “regaling” his friends with the history of bitcoin over brunch. Though Rose seemed interested and followed along, asking him probing questions, Albus’ face took on a befuddled expression right around the point where he got to decentralized networks. Albus had laughed and self-deprecatingly proclaimed the whole thing too complicated for him and then gone to retrieve more smoked salmon for their bagels.

“Families are the compass that guide us. They are the inspiration to reach great heights, and our comfort when we occasionally falter.”

Brad Henry

I love how close you are with your family and that you make an effort to see them regularly and make them an everyday part of your life. And because they’re important to you, they are important to me. I will do everything I can to ensure their support of our relationship if you decide to give our relationship a chance...even though your dad is kind of scary.

Scorpius chuckles at that final line. His dad definitely can be a little scary, though he thrills at the knowledge that whoever his admirer is, he seems to know his dad. He’s just considering asking his father if he has any clue as to who it is when he hears the door open and close down the hall. Fortunately, the harp music has faded away, so he won’t have to answer any of Albus’ questions about where the music is coming from. There’s some crashing and banging in the kitchen and then Albus emerges in the door of the lounge with a happy look on his face.

“They had a sale on Jägermeister, so I grabbed a bottle of that and a package of Red Bulls. We can do a couple of Jagerbombs before we go out tonight and it will give us the energy boost to push through to the wee hours!”

Scorpius groans. “Great. I love that heart-pounding sensation of my heart trying to break free through my ribcage.”

Albus has the gall to laugh. “At least join us for one. I think your delicate, Malfoy heart can handle one.”

“Fine, just one though. Then I’m switching to gin and tonics.”

Albus scrunches his face up in mock disgust. “Ugh, I will never understand why you like that drink so much. It’s so bitter.” Scorpius shrugs and then Albus grins wickedly at him. “It must be since you’re so sweet.”

Scorpius rolls his eyes. “Don’t try that line at the club tonight. There’s no way you’ll pull with that weak offering.”

“Nothing to worry over. I don’t have any intention of going home with anyone but you, Scorp.”

Scorpius squirms at the double entendre and decides to just ignore him. Albus is probably just trying to get a rise out of him, and he refuses to give him the pleasure. “Rose will be here at 7. We can have a few drinks here before we head out for the evening.”

“Sounds good. I’m going to go take a kip. See you in a few hours.” Albus waves and departs from the room and Scorpius turns his attention back to the note.

“Love is friendship that has caught fire. It is quiet understanding, mutual confidence, sharing and forgiving. It is loyalty through good and bad times. It settles for less than perfection and makes allowances for human weaknesses.”

Ann Landers

Strangely, there is no explanation below this quote and Scorpius finds his eyes sliding up to the now-vacant door frame.

 “Loyalty is what makes us trust. Trust is what makes us stay. Staying is what makes us love, and love is what gives us hope.”

Glenn van Dekken

I will strive to earn your loyalty every day.

“You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.”

Dr. Seuss

That, and the persistent erections!

Scorpius barks out a laugh at the unexpected comment. Reading the bald words over several times, he lets his mind wander, imagining a smooth hand taking hold of a straining erection and stroking it, chest muscles covered in a dark dusting of hair flexing with the effort. He imagines bending down and taking one of those dusky nipples in his mouth and sucking, worrying it between his teeth until it elicits a gasp-moan-groan of pleasure. Then travelling down that lightly-muscled frame and taking that hard cock into his mouth and—

Shaking himself out of the vivid mental picture, he adjusts himself in his trousers. It’s bad roommate etiquette to have a wank in the lounge where the other person can walk in at any time.

“You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.”

C.S. Lewis

_Mmmm, tea actually sounds amazing right now_ , Scorpius thinks to himself. He pushes himself up and out of the chair and then makes his way to the kitchen, turning on the hob and resting the kettle on it before turning once again to the letter and the last two quotes.

“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

Gandalf, The Fellowship of the Ring

Scorpius smiles at the familiar quote. He’s only just read it yesterday, during his reread of the book. There’s no explanation provided for this one, but he thinks he knows why his admirer has chosen this particular quote. In two days’ time, Scorpius will find out the identity of his secret admirer and he will have to decide

The final quote, again, does not contain an explanation below it, but it speaks for itself.

“What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined for life—to strengthen each other in all labor, to rest on each other in all sorrow, to minister to each other in all pain, to be one with each other in silent unspeakable memories at the moment of the last parting?”

George Eliot, Adam Bede

He closes the note slowly and holds it against his chest until the kettle starts to whistle. Pouring himself a mugful of the boiling water, he drops the teabag in and lets it brew for precisely 3 minutes and 45 seconds, and then pulls it out. Picking up the mug, he heads down the hallway to his room, pausing for a moment outside of Albus’ room and listening for any sounds of movement, before continuing on.

He spends the next little while having a nice, leisurely wank, imagining he’s exploring the body of his secret admirer, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t keep imagining bright green eyes and a dark mop of hair with his fingers running through it.

 

★★★

 

“Blondie, you look good enough to eat.”

Scorpius jumps as a hand places itself very unapologetically on his arse. He turns towards the man, intending to remove his derriere from his grasping range, but too late realizes his mistake when the man steps forward and pulls them together at the hip. Scorpius manages to get his hands between them and is attempting to push the lumbering brute off of him when a familiar voice, in a tone he’s never heard before, comes from over his shoulder.

“Get your hands off of him, or lose them, Muggle.” Albus sounds so intense and scary, Scorpius would never want to be on the receiving end of that malice.

“What’s it to you, Shorty?” the man grunts, tightening his fingers on Scorpius’ hips to the point where he wonders if he’s going to have bruises.

“I don’t take it well when skulking brutes put their grubby paws all over my boyfriend,” Albus practically growls. If Scorpius didn’t know any better, he would think that Albus actually is jealous and not just helping him out of a sticky situation with a creep that doesn’t know the meaning of consent.

The man looks like he’s about to retort with some, no doubt, highly witty response when the malice in his face drains out and is replaced with a blank expression and his fingers loosen. Suddenly the force that Scorpius has been exerting on his chest is met with no resistance and he stumbles back into Albus, who reaches up and steadies him, his hands landing on Scorpius’ hips. It’s shocking how two touches in effectively the same location can feel so incredibly different. Scorpius steals an extra moment, leaning against Albus and enjoying the feel of his hands on him before he reluctantly pulls himself away.

When he looks up, he just catches the tail end of Rose’s wand disappearing into the small, beaded handbag and the great ape of a man is turning around and walking away towards the entrance of the club.

“Did you—”

Rose interrupts him before Scorpius can finish his question, “Don’t worry, I just hit him with a wallop of a _Confundo_ and then suggested to him that it was time for him to go home for the night. I suppose I must have overshot it on the outfit.”

“You think??” Albus’ tone has lost the frosty chill that it had before, but he still sounds tense and on-edge. Scorpius looks over his shoulder to just barely make out him directing an annoyed glare in Rose’s direction through the streaking lights of the club.

“It’s not my fault that Scorpius is hot and only needed a tiny nudge to become bear bait. He may as well be a jar of honey!” Rose waves her hand at the outfit which she had been the designer of. He had originally just planned on wearing a simple, black button up and denims, but she had taken one look at him when she’d gotten to their apartment and declared the outfit completely unsuitable for the gay bar she had decided they should go to tonight. She’d pulled out her wand and before he knew what was happening, he was wearing a sheer, black mesh shirt that you could clearly see his nipples through and his denims were considerably more form-fitting. He had begged her to transfigure them back, but she wouldn’t be moved, and when Albus had walked into the room and wolf-whistled at him, he’d reluctantly agreed to give the outfit a go.

At least he wasn’t the only one dressed like this. He has to admit that Rose had been right and there was definitely more mesh, leather, and shiny materials adorning the crowd of people than there are sensible, understated button-ups.

“Thanks Rose. You’re pretty hot yourself,” he said, looking her outfit over once more. Rose is wearing a wine, velour, sleeveless romper with a choker-style collar around the neck. Matching thin, diamond slits are cut into both the front and the back of the garment, revealing a large patch of skin on display. He’s not sure how she’s managing to keep her boobs pinned up like that, but he’s sure that magic must be involved because there is definitely no brassiere straps visible.

She preens a little. “Thanks, Scorp.” At Albus’ throat clearing, she adds, “you look fine too, Al.”

Albus looks mildly offended for a minute, but then he laughs. “At least I don’t have any beefy dudes grabbing my arse against my will.” Unlike Scorpius, Al’s costume is much more understated: a plain white, V-neck shirt under a tan leather jacket and dark blue denims. He’s removed the leather jacket now that they’re in the heat of the club and his dark chest hairs are visible in the V of his top. Looking around, it seems that shaved chests are the norm, at this gay club at least, but Scorpius likes the ruggedness that the chest hairs lend to Albus. He’s never been able to grow chest hair himself, so he finds it wonderfully intriguing.

“I don’t have any beefy dudes grabbing me,” Rose corrects.

Albus laughs again, “Rose, you look incredibly sexy, and I’m sure if this club wasn’t full of gay men and your cousin, you’d have men fighting to the death to buy you a drink. Happy?”

Rose grins. “Very. Now buy Scorpius and me a drink, would you? I won’t even make you fight to the death for the honour.”

Al turns and leans on the bar and flags down the bartender, who gives Al a flirtatious grin and a lascivious up-and-down before sauntering over to stand in front of him. “What can I get you, sexy?”

“One dark rum and diet coke, one gin and tonic, and one whiskey sour, please,” Albus orders as the bartender gives him a blatant come-fuck-me look.

Scorpius lets the three previous G&T’s sloshing around in his stomach curb his better judgement and he wraps his arm around Al’s back and rests his chin over Al’s shoulder, crowding Al’s side as he speaks to the bartender, “Two lime slices for the G&T, please.” The flirty bartender casts a scrutinizing glance between him and Al and then leans back, the suggestive body language disappearing into a more businesslike demeanour as he starts to mix their drinks.

Al’s body bounces up and down slightly with his silent laughter and then he’s turning his head towards Scorpius and whispering directly into his ear so that he can hear it even over the loud music, “Thanks. I don’t think he’d pass up the opportunity to get his hands on my arse. What do you think?”

Scorpius nods against Albus’s shoulder, his chin digging in a little just above Albus’ collarbone. He thinks that, perhaps, he should retreat into his own space, but Albus feels relaxed against him and doesn’t seem to mind, so he decides to stay where he is, breathing in the rich, woodsy scent of Albus’ cologne, and under it, the smell that’s solely Albus.

Too soon, the bartender deposits their drinks on the bar in front of him and Scorpius reluctantly backs away, missing the heat of Albus along the front of his body. He picks up Rose’s rum and diet coke and hands it to her, drawing her eyes away from the gyrating bodies on the floor. They’ve been here for about an hour now, but they still haven’t made their way onto the dance floor.

The three of them stand together, sipping on their drinks and making spotty conversation over the deep bass of the music until Rose throws back the last of her drink and slams the glass down onto the bar between him and Al. “Come on, boys. It’s time to dance.”

Scorpius makes an attempt to decline, but he has little hope against the sheer force of Rose’s determination, and when Albus caves with a sheepish shrug in his direction, he resigns himself to the public embarrassment that is about to take place and follows them out onto the dance floor.

Rose and Albus start dancing, their bodies moving sinuously to the beat of the music, as Scorpius bounces lightly, shifting his foot from side-to-side and moving as little as possible. He has never been good at dancing; his body seems incapable of moving with anything close to grace. Shuffling around and a few jerky arm movements are about the limit of his abilities in this field, and with the gin and tonic in his hand, he can’t even do those.

Scorpius takes the opportunity to watch Albus, who is dancing along to the music with his eyes closed. Somehow he is managing to hold his half-full drink above his head without spilling as his hips swivel to the music and his upper body twists back and forth. His body is lithe and beautiful and Scorpius can’t help but wonder what he would look like with fewer clothes on and preferably in a bed.

Just then, Albus’ eyes shoot open and bore into him, as if he could hear Scorpius’ thoughts. If he didn’t know him better, Scorpius would be concerned that he was a Legilimens, but he knows his thoughts are safe inside his head. Regardless, he’s glad for the sultry, darkness of the club because he can feel his face and chest heating up with a rush of blood.

Albus watches him for a few moments and then shimmies over to him, gaze intense. The fingers of his left hand encircle Scorpius’ right, which is holding the glass, and then pulls it up, level to Scorpius’ face. He looks at Albus in confusion and then he mouths an exaggerated ‘bottom’s up’ and throws back what’s left of his own whiskey sour, face puckering for a moment before he laughs. He jerks his head at Scorpius, indicating he should follow suit, so he does, taking one final, large gulp of the bitter drink.

Albus takes the glass from him and then turns, disappearing between writhing bodies for a second until he emerges again, sans glasses. Scorpius stands, feeling awkward and unsure of what Albus is planning, and then Albus reaches out and takes his hands and lifts them up, setting them on Albus’ shoulders. Letting go of Scorpius’, Albus lets his hands slide down Scorpius’ body and come to rest over his hips, his fingers reaching around and just touching the outer edge of his arse.

Scorpius holds his breath, unsure exactly of what is happening, and then Albus starts to move, pulling Scorpius along with him. Nervous, he shoots a glance over in the direction of Rose to see her dancing alone, smiling as she gives him a cheeky wink, and then spinning around, dancing with someone behind her, as if giving them privacy.

Scorpius turns back to Albus and startles to find his blazing gaze only inches away. They dance like that for a few minutes, Albus pushing and pulling Scorpius’ hips along to the rhythm, and then the song dissolves away and a new one takes over—a throbbing sensual beat—and Albus is suddenly closer, a whispered breath all that is separating them.

All too soon, Al is reaching up and pulling Scorpius’ hands out of the hair at the back of his head—he’s not even sure when they migrated there—and he thinks that Albus is going to push him away. Instead, he feels opposing pressures on his hip bones, one pushing and the other pulling, and he understands that Albus is directing him to turn around.

Relenting, Scorpius turns around on the crowded dance floor of the club and he’s exhilarated when Al pulls him back, plastering his back to Al’s front and leaving no space between them. His face comes to rest against the side of Scorpius’ head, over one shoulder, and then his arms are snaking around Scorpius’ front. One arm comes to rest, hand splayed on Scorpius’ chest, holding his upper body back against Albus, while the other settles much lower, just at the point where his denims begin.

Albus starts moving to the rhythm of the music again and Scorpius feels stiff and ungraceful for a bit until Albus’ low whisper slides into his ear, “Let go, Scorp.” Scorpius shivers and then he does, letting his muscles relax and banishing the self-conscious doubts that always plague him while he’s dancing, and instead entrusting his body to Albus. “That’s it. Just like that.”

Al’s praise and his hot breath tickling over the sensitive skin behind his ear makes Scorpius shiver. He can feel his nipples peaking, rubbing against the mesh of his shirt, and he wants nothing more at that moment than for Albus to slide that hand over, grab one, and twist it, sending a lick of pain and pleasure straight to his cock.

To Scorpius’ disappointment, Al doesn’t do it, and for a few long minutes they dance and he’s so awash in feelings, sensations and desires shooting through his body that he doesn’t notice the prodding firmness rubbing against his arse. He’s sure that he must be imagining it—that his desire has become so extreme that it is manipulating his perception—so he throws caution to the wind and pushes back experimentally, rubbing his arse against Albus’ lap.

He knows he’s not imagining the gasp followed by a low moan that hits his ear. His mind has filled with a thousand questions about what is going on right now. Albus definitely seems to be turned on right now. By Scorpius. What does that mean? Is Scorpius’ secret desire not so impossible after all? Or is it just a simple biological response? Nothing but friction?

By force of will, Scorpius pushes all the questions that probably need to be asked to the back of his mind and decides to just enjoy the moment. He settles his head back against Albus’ shoulder and lets their bodies rock and flow together. He covers Al’s hand on his chest, slipping their fingers together and holding hands against his chest. The other he lifts up, bending it around behind to stroke his fingers through Albus’ thick hair. It’s a little sweaty from all the closely-packed bodies on the dance floor and their exertions, but he couldn’t care less, scraping his nails lightly against the scalp.

They dance together like that, entwined around each other, into the wee hours of the morning.


	15. Chapter 15

 

 

_January 4th, 2026_

Consciousness creeps up on Albus slowly and he fights against it, not wanting to relinquish the delicious dream he’d just been having. He and Scorpius had been dancing at the club, Scorp’s graceful, long fingers tracing patterns against his scalp and his pert arse rubbing against his front and stiffening his prick. Unlike last night, in this dream version, he had let his hand trail down from Scorpius’ abdomen, and cup the hard cock, revelling in the groan of pleasure the action pulls from Scorpius, head resting back against Albus’ shoulder. His fine, white hair is unbelievably soft, tickling his neck as Al strokes along that aching length, ever so slowly. The rest of the club-goers dissolve away and it’s just he and Scorpius wrapped up in each other.

Albus turns onto his back and slides his hand under the cover. Wanting to prolong the tingling anticipation, he diverts his attention away from his straining cock and takes one of his nipples in his fingers, squeezing the sensitive nub so that a lick of pleasure-pain shoots through him. He slides his thumb and index finger into his mouth, wetting them, then returns them to his other nipple, imagining that it’s Scorpius’ wet mouth encompassing it and biting softly on it.

He groans at the combination of the mental image and the squeezing sensation and thrusts his hips up, rubbing his leaking erection against the heavy weight of his comforter, never more grateful that he prefers to sleep naked. Unable to contain himself any longer, he throws back the sheets and reaches over to his bedside table, scrambling around until he manages to grab ahold of his wand. Casting a Lubrication charm on his hand, he reaches down and takes his cock in his hand and slides his tight fist up and down several times, watching as his glans emerges and disappears once more inside the circle of his hand.

It feels good, but it’s not what he’s craving, so closing his eyes, he instead imagines it’s Scorpius’ tight, hot arse encircling his prick as he rides him, and his erection throbs with interest. Bending his knees, Albus holds his hand steady and instead fucks his hips up into the clenching heat, imagining he can almost hear the erotic sound of Scorpius’ arse and thighs slapping against his own skin and feel the leaking tip of his erection bouncing against his abdomen. Albus speeds up his thrusts as he imagines fucking hard into Scorpius, pushing him closer to the edge every time he drills into his prostate, and then Scorpius is coming and Albus’ hand is squeezing even tighter and he’s coming, long lashes of cum landing on his chest and stomach.

After the high of the orgasm passes, Albus melts into the bed, every muscle in his body relaxing. He should get up and clean himself off—he can feel his cum drying in his chest hairs—but he’s not sure he’s ready to face the world yet. It had taken all of his self-control not to push for more with Scorpius last night, not to twist his head around and take his mouth in a deep kiss that conveys all of the love, desire, and frustration he’s been battling with for the last month and a half.

Waking up alone this morning, he’s starting to regret the decision, but he doesn’t want their first time together to be tainted by alcohol-fueled poor decisions. They hadn’t had so much to drink last night that he’s feeling it too badly this morning, but he wants Scorpius to be fully in his right mind and able to make an informed decision when they have sex for the first time. Besides, he has a plan and he’s still got one more gift planned for today before the big reveal of his identity tomorrow.

Al lifts his head and listens for any sounds coming from the other bedroom of the apartment. He’s not surprised when he doesn’t hear anything; Scorpius has always been more inclined to sleeping in than he has. Pushing himself up, he pulls the shrunken typewriter, which is a matched pair to the one that he gave Scorpius so that he could communicate with his “secret admirer” out of his bedside table and restores it to its original size.

I hope you had fun with Rose and Albus last night. I’m sure you looked like sex on legs.

_Merlin’s balls, he really had._ Albus had thought his cock was going to bust free of his denims when he’d walked in and seen Scorpius in that sinfully delicious outfit. He had stood there behind Scorpius, enjoying the view for a few moments before he’d made his presence be known. Of course, given the smug look Rose had given him, he would bet that she had been aware of his presence.

That outfit had really come back to bite him though. When he’d seen that bear manhandling Scorp, despite his obvious rejection, he had seen red. It took every shred of self-control he had not to hex the wanker into a pool of goo on the floor. Thank Merlin Rose had more foresight than him and had de-escalated the situation. After that though, there was no way he was going to let some other meathead get their hands on Scorpius. And, of course, it had been a perfect excuse for him to get his hands on him.

Albus groans; he can’t start thinking of that again or he’s never going to get out of this bed. Turning his attention back to the typewriter, he types out one additional message:

I hope you had fun with Rose and Albus last night. I’m sure you looked like sex on legs.

Day 11’s gift is in honour of your birthday. Aquarius is the eleventh sign of the zodiac, and your birthstone is the amethyst. I know it’s presumptuous, but the other birthstone in your gift represents me. I hope you think of me every time you wear it.

Albus holds off on sending the message for now, and instead tosses the comforter over the typewriter, just in case Scorpius breaks with convention and decides to get up early and wander around. He cracks his door open and sticks his head out, but he doesn’t hear any movement from Scorpius’ room, and, in fact, can hear the soft sounds of Scorpius’ snoring—he swears he doesn’t snore, and Albus lets him believe that; fortunately he is a deep sleeper. He considers throwing on some pants, but decides to brazen it out, and crosses the hallway to the bathroom.

He takes a quick shower—very aware of the fact that the smell of peppermint is now enough of an aphrodisiac for him to have his cock twitching with definite interest, which is going to make Christmases that much more interesting from now on—towels off, and then slips across the hall, once more in the buff.

He dresses quickly and checks the typewriter to see whether any new messages have come through from Scorpius, but there isn’t, so he writes out a quick note for him that he’ll leave on the kitchen counter beside the tea—there’s no way he won’t see it there since that’s usually his first stop when he rolls out of bed.

He taps his wand against the typewriter to send the message he’d prepared earlier and then crosses the room and takes a felt-covered jewellery box out of his sock drawer. Slipping out of the room, Albus hastily makes his way down the hall and to the kitchen, where he sets his note down underneath the jewellery box:

Gone to run a few errands. I’ll meet you at Teddy’s at 7.

Al

P.S. This came for you while you were sleeping.

Albus casts one last look at the box, his stomach flipping with nerves. The box contains a platinum ring with a flat top section adorned only with two simple, circular gemstones set into it, side-by-side, on one side. The typed note inside explains that Scorpius’ Aquarius amethyst gemstone (the 11th sign of the Zodiac) is set beside his own Aries diamond gemstone.

He’s had to dip into the vault that his parents set up for him when he came of age for all of these gifts, but he doesn’t care; Scorpius is worth every Galleon. He’s amazed that Scorpius hasn’t seemed to figure out that the gifts are from him yet; who else would know Scorpius well enough to get him so many personalized, meaningful gifts. Admittedly, he had panicked a bit at the extravagance of the cruise they have scheduled for Valentine’s day, but he’s pretty sure that once Scorpius finds out that his secret admirer is actually his best friend, that he’ll get over his concerns quickly.

Aside from the gifts themselves, every day that goes by that Scorpius doesn’t seem to notice the sappy look of love on Albus’ face whenever he looks at Scorpius amazes him. He feels like his face lights up and his spirits buoy whenever he’s around Scorpius. He feels as if the final piece of a puzzle has slotted into place inside of himself and all of a sudden his life makes more sense, like Scorpius was a missing piece of himself that was sitting right in front of him all along.

A part of him wants to stay here and see Scorpius’ reaction to the gift to see whether he’s gone a tad overboard on this, but he doesn’t trust himself to be alone with Scorpius right now and not pull the other man into his arms and spend the next week straight in bed doing all of the things he’s been imagining for the last six weeks. He doesn’t know how Scorpius has managed to live with these feelings for years, watching Albus with a string of girlfriends, and not go stark-raving mad.

Albus turns to leave the kitchen, then, on second thought, turns back and takes the stripey mug that Scorpius prefers out of the dishwasher and leaves it on the counter beside his note and the ring box. Smiling fondly, Albus slips into his heavy, grey, wool coat and slips out of their apartment, locking it behind him.

When the lift dings open on the third floor, he’s excited to see that it’s Mrs Rafferty making her way into the lift. The elderly woman always seems to make him laugh, though her ability to see the truth in any situation, and eagerness to speak it, can be a little unsettling. “Good morning, Mrs Rafferty.”

“Oh! Albus, dear, you look as handsome as ever. Where’s that charming boyfriend of yours?”

Albus feels his cheeks heat, and he corrects her, hopefully for the last time. “He’s not actually my boyfriend, Mrs Rafferty.”

She merely clucks her tongue, “Technicality. That’s only a matter of time, am I right?”

Albus is sure his face must be flaming red by now, but he decides to brazen it out, in true Potter fashion. “That’s my hope, ma’am.”

She gives him a cheeky grin, “I had a feeling you weren’t a berk, though I had begun to despair there for a bit. You two will make an adorable couple.”

Albus gives her a proud grin. “Thank you, ma’am. Where are you off to today?” he asks as he helps her off the lift, pulling her shopping trolley for her. The two walk together across the lobby of the building and he holds the door open for her.

“I’m just going to pop down to the shops. I have a mind to do up a curry for supper. And yourself?”

“Oh, well...um…” to be honest, Albus hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. All he’d known was that if he stayed in their apartment any longer, there was a good chance he was going to climb into Scorpius’ bed and hold him captive there, evening plans be damned.

Mrs Rafferty gives him a shrewd look as if she somehow knows precisely what he’s thinking and then nods her head decisively. “Come on. You can come help an old lady with her shopping. There’s nothing more dangerous than a young man at loose ends.” Turning, she strides confidently down the street, leaving her shopping trolley with Albus as if there’s no doubt that he’s going to follow her directions.

Shrugging his shoulders, he follows her and for the next couple of hours he follows Mrs Rafferty around to a variety of shops, procuring nothing but the best ingredients for the chicken curry. Everywhere they go, the shop owners seem to know Mrs. Rafferty and treat her with respect, with just a hint of fear mixed in. He’s a little relieved to know that he’s not the only one that seems to be constantly on his toes around the woman.

When they arrive back at the apartment building, Albus is about to excuse himself and figure out what to do next to eat up a few more hours, when Mrs Rafferty practically drags him into her apartment and sets him to work peeling and chopping carrots and onions. He’s never actually made curry himself, opting to buy it from one of the many and frequent curry restaurants instead, but soon the apartment is full of the rich, exotic smells of the spices and he wonders why he’s never bothered to try this before.

His stomach lets out an angry growl and he realizes that he’s neglected to eat anything today. Mrs Rafferty chuckles and scoops an extra serving of basmati rice into the pot before turning on the hob. Albus places a few pieces of store-bought naan onto a baking sheet and slides it into the oven when it is finished preheating. The timing is perfect, and Mrs Rafferty doles him out a large serving of the curry on a bed of rice with a piping hot piece of naan, before making herself up a much smaller serving.

The two of them sit together, enjoying the spicy dish and chatting pleasantly for several hours. He ends up telling her all about his grand, romantic gesture and the twelve days of gifts—leaving out all of the magic of course—and his nervousness about tomorrow.

“That’s all very romantic and all, but it is the privilege of youth to put off happiness,” she clucks.

He grins mischievously at her, “Haven’t you heard that the best things are worth waiting for?”

“Waiting is contraindicated at my age,” she scoffs.

“You can’t be that old...what are you? 30? 35?” he asks, winking at her.

She lets out a loud bark of laughter. “Parts of me are. I think my knee replacement was done about that long ago.”

Albus laughs and then casts a glance at the grandfather clock and is shocked to see that it’s already half six. “I’m very sorry, Mrs Rafferty, but I have to get going.”

She waves off his apology, “No need to be sorry, dear. Thank you for keeping an old lady company.”

He gives her a genuine look of fondness, “I really enjoyed it. I hope we can do this again sometime?”

“You’re a sweet boy. Next time bring that beau of yours. It would do my eyes good to rest on him for a few hours,” she says, giving him a sly grin. She waves him off once more when he goes to pick up their plates to take into the kitchen. “I’ll take care of that. You get going now. Oh, and Albus? Congratulations. I am sure you and Scorpius will make each other very happy.”

He smiles shyly, “I hope so.” He gives Mrs Rafferty a peck on the cheek in parting and then lets himself out of her apartment and heads down the stairs. If he hurries, he has just enough time to pick up some crisps and some wine or something before he needs to be at Teddy’s.

 

★★★

 

“I’m going to have to go with....” James scans the collection of cards, analysing his choices. “I walked in on Cumbridge and A vibrating battery-operated Nimbus 2000 having sex in the Great Hall! It was hot!”

A collection of groans and laughs arises from the congregation of people around the table as Teddy waves his hands in the symbol of victory, flipping them around in the much more vulgar gesture when Lily accuses James of cheating and handing his roommate an easy win, at which Lily and the rest of the group merely laugh. Civility goes out the window when you’re playing Cards Against Muggles and they all know that.

“That’s not very Hufflepuff of you,” Lily accuses Teddy, sticking her tongue out at him.

“I will have you know that we Hufflepuffs take fair play VERY seriously. How dare you accuse me of collusion.” Teddy holds his hand to his chest, feigning grievous insult.

“Yeah, Lily. Don’t be such a sore loser,” Hugo scolds her.

“Thanks, Hugo.” Teddy reaches out and claps Hugo on the shoulder. “Us minorities have to stick together or we’ll be drowned by the red sea, right Albus?”

“Huh? What?” Albus looks hastily away from Scorpius, who he’s barely been able to take his eyes off of tonight, even though Scorpius seems to be steadfastly refusing to look at him. He’s no doubt angry with Albus for making himself scarce today after he practically dry-humped him on the dancefloor for hours last night, and he can’t really blame him. It was a bit cowardly of him, but there’s a reason he sorted Slytherin and not Gryffindor.

“Earth to Albus. Come in Albus.” Teddy waves his hand in front of Albus’ face and he realizes that not only has his mind drifted, yet again, to Scorpius, but he’s definitely not being subtle about it—everyone’s laughing in his direction. He chances another quick glance at Scorpius and sees that even he seems to be fighting to keep a smirk off of his face, though he’s still adamantly looking anywhere but at Albus. “What’s up with you today?”

Albus glues a fake smile on his face and vows to stop obsessing over Scorpius quite so much—or at least to attempt it. “Nothing. I was just struck dumb by the mental image of that old hag getting off.” Albus affects a visible shudder and everyone laughs. “I’m going to get another glass of wine. Anyone want anything?”

He takes note of the various requests and heads to the kitchen. He’s just pouring Hugo his butterbeer when Rose walks into the kitchen. “You’re a real prat sometimes, Al.”

Sighing, Al places his hands on the edge of the counter and leans forward, head sagging, “I know.”

“You guys seemed so close to getting your shit together last night at the club, and now he can barely look at you. What the hell did you do?” she asks, arms crossing in aggravation.

Al looks up at her and replies meekly, “I made a curry.”

She blinks at him a few times and then replies, face betraying nothing, “Must have been a crap curry.”

Al laughs humorlessly, “No, it’s...never mind; it doesn’t matter. Don’t worry Rose, I’ll talk to him. I’ll sort it out.”

“You’d better. You may be my cousin, Al, but if you hurt him, I will castrate you.” She turns to go, but then stops and turns back and adds, “He’s wearing it, you know.” At his confused expression, she elaborates, “the ring that you gave him earlier. He’s wearing it.”

Albus shakes his head, brows drawing together. That was the first thing he’d looked for when he’d walked into Teddy’s, ten minutes late, and seen Scorpius standing chatting with James. He’d felt his stomach plummet with disappointment when he’d seen those bare fingers. “No, he’s not.”

Rose rolls her eyes. “No wonder you got such crap marks in DADA. He’s put a Disillusionment Charm on it. Ring finger, right hand.” With that, she spins and heads back to the party, leaving Albus with a feeling of optimism that he’s been missing for the last couple of hours.

 

★★★

 

“Scorpius, will you just wait? Can we please just talk?” Albus begs to Scorpius’ back as he undoes the buttons on his coat and hangs it in the hallway closet.

“Oh, so now you want to talk?” he bites back. “Where were you all day when we could have talked?”

“Honestly? I was down in Mrs Rafferty’s apartment making a curry.” Scorpius stumbles momentarily in his journey to his bedroom and turns back toward Albus, giving him a confused look, before shaking himself and turning back around, resuming his frosty demeanour.

Scorpius enters his bedroom and pushes the door shut, but Albus catches it before it can close on him and pushes it open once more. He doesn’t go inside though, wanting to give Scorpius some space. He wants to be invited in.

“You’re angry with me—” He’s interrupted by a rather derisive snort from Scorpius, but he continues, “and you have every right to be, but if you’d just let me explain…”

Scorpius sighs, and sits down heavily on his bed. “I’m not _angry_ with you...I’m...frustrated. For weeks now you’ve been acting...odd, and I thought it was just all in my head, that I was imagining things. Waking up to you curled up to me in bed, using me as a pillow, the kiss on New Year’s. They didn’t _feel_ like they were strictly platonic gestures, but I thought maybe you were just feeling touchy-feely since you don’t have a girlfriend or something. But then last night _definitely_ didn’t feel strictly friendly. I...I could feel it-you, Al. I could feel that you were hard.”

Albus stands there watching his best friend for a few moments. His head is hung low and his shoulders are stooped. He’s also fiddling with the disillusioned ring with his thumb, apparently spinning it around on his finger. “I’m really sorry, Scorp. I knew that if I hung around today that we would have to talk about it and I wasn’t quite ready to do that.

“When will you be ready?” Scorpius asks, in the barest of whispers.

Pulling out his wand, Albus casts a wordless _Tempus_ spell. “Right now.”


	16. Chapter 16

 

 

_January 5th, 2026_

 

“Just give me 20 seconds, okay? Scorp?” Albus pleads.

When Scorpius nods, Albus turns around and hurries over to his room. He slides open the closet door and pulls the neatly wrapped box down from the upper shelf. Hurrying back to Scorpius’ room, he pauses at the door until Scorpius waves for him to come in. Nervous, he crosses the room and seats himself beside Scorpius, who is still avoiding looking at him and is staring resolutely down at his hands, spinning the Disillusioned ring that Albus can just barely make out now that he knows to look for it.

“Is that my last present?” Scorpius asks.

“Yes,” Albus confirms as he sets the gift down on the bed between them. Scorpius turns slightly towards him and starts opening the wrapping in small, precise motions, carefully removing each piece of tape so as not to rip the paper. Albus can feel a dopey grin sweep across his face as he tries to decide whether he finds the whole thing vexing or charming.

After what feels like an age, Scorpius has finally managed to remove the wrapping and folded it into a careful square, which he sets aside. He steals a glance up at Albus and looks back down at the gift once more, but not before Albus has caught the mischievous grin on his face— _definitely charming_ , Albus thinks.

Scorpius lifts the lid of the wooden case and Albus wants to laugh at the look of confusion that Scorpius shoots at him. “They’re Christmas tree decorations?”

Albus does laugh then. “Technically, yes, but there’s a little more to them than that. It’s a new design that uncle George has been working on for the shop.” He reaches over the top of the lid and picks up one of the delicate glass globes, letting it hang down from the attached chain that is slipped over his finger. Albus takes out his wand and draws it slowly down the curve of the bulb and Scorpius gasps as the swirling white mist inside aligns and begins to take shape.

Albus takes a quick glance at the ball and takes note of the image inside: it’s his memory of that first day of fourth year on the train. He’d just had that terrible fight with his dad where they’d both said cruel things that they regretted almost immediately, but they were both too stubborn to apologize for them just yet. He had searched out Scorpius, the only person he’d felt understood him at that time, and had impulsively wrapped him in a hug that had gone on for slightly longer than what would be considered normal.

Albus turns his attention back to Scorpius and feels a glow of happiness at the look of awe on Scorpius’ face. “Al, it’s…”

Al runs his wand down the orb once more and the image dissolves into an indefinable mist once more. He places the ornament carefully back in the box once more and then looks up at Scorpius. “Pick another one.”

Scorpius seems to consider for a moment, and then reaches down and picks up one of the balls from the other side of the container. He takes his wand and runs the tip of it down the glass and the same thing happens, only this time it’s Scorpius’ first day working at Gringotts and the two of them are celebrating at The Leaky Cauldron, composing increasingly elaborate toasts to one another until it’s virtually assured that they’re both going to be wildly successful millionaires with side-by-side private islands in the Caribbean and a full staff of people dedicated to nothing but fulfilling their every whim and desire. Scorpius chuckles at the memory and then disappears it before replacing it and picking up the next.

Albus watches as Scorpius views each of the memories: studying together in the Slytherin common room, Albus reclining on the sofa with his head on Scorpius’ lap as Scorpius traces his fingers through Albus’ hair, sneaking into James’ room and borrowing his new Cirrus 9 to take for a joyride, one of the many nights they fell asleep on the same four-poster bed after staying up into the wee hours of the morning talking, and half a dozen other memories of times they’ve spent together that Albus wouldn’t exchange for anything.

Scorpius sets the final Memornament—the two of them dancing, Albus’ arms wrapped around Scorpius, holding him tight, as he ran his nose up the long line of Scorpius’ extended neck, breathing in the peppermint fresh fragrance on his skin—and then carefully closes the lid of the box, resting his right hand on top of it, letting the other settle into his lap. “Al, what is this?”

Albus reaches out and tentatively picks up Scorpius’ hand in both of his, turning it over and tracing his fingers along the fine lines of the palm. “It’s us. Twelve of my favourite moments of us, though it was nearly impossible to choose such a small number.

Scorpius watches, hand immobile, as Albus traces the long line of fate down the centre of his palm and onto his wrist, tickling over the pale green lines of veins just under the surface of his thin, almost translucent skin. “Yes, but why?” Scorpius persists.

“You know why,” Albus responds, voice low. Turning Scorpius’ hand over in his, he strokes his thumb over the ring finger where it meets his palm. “When did you figure out it was me?”

Scorpius whispers a spell under his breath and the Disillusionment Charm falls away, revealing the matte finish of the ring with the two small gemstones, one purple and one clear, nestled beside each other in the simple design. “Just today, well, yesterday now, I suppose. I sent my ‘secret admirer’ a message, and I heard the tapping sound coming from your room. You left your typewriter on your bed.”

“Bollocks!” Albus chuckles softly.

“Hoisted by your own petard,” Scorpius accuses. When Albus gives him a confused look, he clarifies, “You were so eager to get out of here that you forgot to put it away and it’s what gave away your secret identity.”

“I know that you’re upset with me, but you’re wearing the ring, so does that mean I still have a chance?” Albus asks hopefully.

“A chance at what, exactly?” Scorpius’ voice sounds a little strained, as if he’s approaching the end of his ability to cope with this conversation.

Albus releases his grip with one hand and reaches up, running the outside of his fingers along the smooth line of Scorpius’ jaw. “To be with you. To be together. To be your boyfriend, Scorp.”

Scorpius draws his head back ever-so-slightly, just out of reach of Albus’ reaching hand. “You don’t mean that. You just...you’re feeling lonely, is all. I’m...comfortable. Familiar.”

“Believe me, Scorp, the raging erections I’ve been having over you for the last few weeks have been anything but ‘comfortable’.” Albus grins as he watches Scorpius’ ears take on a tomato-like hue, but he doesn’t leave him suffering for long, “This isn’t because I’m lonely and you’re not just a safe, comfortable choice for me. I want you because you’re clever, funny, you’ve got one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever seen, and you’re bloody fit.”

“You’re not even gay, Albus!” Scorpius’ hand squeezes into a tight fist within his own. Albus eases it open once more, turning the hand over and massaging the palm with his thumbs until the fingers loosen up once again.

“I haven’t settled on a label yet. True, my past romantic relationships have all been with women, but, I assure you, my next one will be with a man—assuming you decide to give me a chance, even though you’d definitely be settling. You could definitely do better.” Albus gives Scorpius a small grin and Scorpius rolls his eyes.

“You just—”

Albus cuts Scorpius’ protestations off, “Before you say anything else, is your main concern that I won’t be sexually attracted to you since I’m a man?” Scorpius gives him a tiny nod, as if he’s half-expecting Albus to change his mind any moment and say ‘ _Never mind. My mistake. This isn’t going to work for me.’_

“Okay, I’d rather thought that my grinding my hard cock into your arse for several hours the other night would have relieved your concerns on that front, but let’s put that concern to rest right now.”

Scorpius looks surprised when Albus stands up abruptly, picks up the wooden box of ornaments, and sets it down on the floor of the closet. “I wouldn’t want them to get broken,” he explains, walking back to Scorpius. Casting a Cushioning Charm on the floor, he drops down on his knees in front of Scorpius, and slowly pries apart Scorpius’ legs, crawling up between them and slowly running his hand up his thighs.

Scorpius leans back, unsure what is happening, then lets out a squeak of surprise as Albus, without breaking eye contact, slides his hands up past his thighs and around to the buckle of his belt. “What are you doing?” Scorpius manages to scrape out, throat swallowing as his mouth seems to go dry all of a sudden.

Albus’ brilliant, green eyes seem to catch fire as they burn into his, not looking away for a second as his hands pull the prong out of the strap, unfastening his belt. “I’m going to do something that I have been fantasising about doing for weeks now: I’m going to suck your cock.”

Every thought in Scorpius’ brain scrambles as it feels like every drop of blood in his body goes rushing towards the part in question. A wicked smile tickles Albus’ lips as he seems to realize exactly what kind of an effect his stark words have just elicited. Albus has just popped the button and lowered the fly on his trousers when a half-formed thought manages to push its way into Scorpius’ mind and he stutters out an uncertain, “Wait.”

Albus stops immediately, his brows coming together slightly in confusion. “It’s just...we haven’t even kissed yet, not really,” Scorpius stammers out.

Albus’ face softens into a relieved grin. “Easily solved.” With that, Albus’ left hand snakes up and around Scorpius’s neck and pulls him down, their lips meeting gently. After a moment, Albus tilts his head and Scorpius feels the wet heat of Albus’ tongue stroking along his lips, begging entrance. Scorpius grants it, slipping his lips open and tentatively lifting his tongue, grazing the tip against Albus’, and then the kiss ignites and their tongues are invading and retreating, dancing together over the battleground of their joined mouths. Albus tastes like fresh mint, with just a hint of wine and curry underneath; the thought that Albus cast a hopeful breath freshening charm at some point makes Scorpius smile as they slowly pull apart.

Scorpius chuckles nervously at Albus. “So we kiss now?”

Albus’ intense stare morphs into a grin. “Definitely. And we’re about to do more than that. Lift up for me, Scorp.” Scorpius leans back and props himself on his hands, lifting his hips off the bed. He expects Albus to just take off his trousers, but to his surprise and mild embarrassment, he takes his pants off with them, his cock springing back and smacking against the soft material of his sweater.

His embarrassment melts away when he looks up to see the feral look of appreciation on Albus’ face. As he watches, Albus’ tongue pokes out and strokes slowly across his lips, as if his mouth is watering at the sight of Scorpius’ naked cock. Albus pulls his eyes away from the flushed, pink colour of Scorpius’ prick and back up into the stormy grey eyes. He would swear that he can see Scorpius’ pupils dilate as he deliberately slides Scorpius’ trousers and pants down his legs, lifting first one and then the other foot and removing the offending garments, along with his socks. Now that he’s gotten an eyeful of Scorpius’ gorgeous cock, he thinks it’s downright criminal that it’s _ever_ covered.

Scorpius swallows visibly as Albus traces his palms back up the back of Scorpius’ legs, enjoying the feel of the soft hairs brushing against his hand as he traces the contours of his calf muscles. Reaching his knees, Albus places his hands on the inside of them and slowly pushes them wider, making room for his body between them. Scorpius has a flash of a thought that he should feel shy, with his most private areas so openly on display, but the thought fizzles out when he sees the open adulation on Albus’ face.

Without warning, Albus yanks his legs forward and Scorpius lets out a yelp of surprise that elicits a short chuckle from Albus. Scorpius’ arse is now resting at the edge of the mattress, and he can feel the cool air of the room against his testicles, but then Albus’ body is filling the space between his widespread legs and his cock is being enveloped in the most glorious wet heat he could ever imagine and the chill is forgotten.

That is, until only seconds later when Albus’ throat is squeezing against the tip of Scorpius’ prick convulsively before he pulls off entirely, coughing and spluttering with watering eyes. They stare at each other for a moment and then they’re both fighting a losing battle, trying to hold back their laughter. Albus smiles sheepishly up at Scorpius, his cheeks colouring slightly. “Sorry about that. I guess I was a little too eager. I probably should have practised this a bit.”

Scorpius sobers and places his hand over Al’s, which is resting on his hip bone. “Al, it’s okay. We don’t have to—”

“No, I want to!” Albus interrupts him. “Can I try that again? I’ll go a little slower this time.”

Scorpius nods and Albus gives him a relieved smile. Al takes the base of Scorpius’ cock in his hand and, maintaining eye contact, lowers his lips to place a soft, close-mouthed kiss on the tip. Scorpius stops breathing as Al tentatively places kisses all around the glans, studying the effects each location seems to have on Scorpius.

He extends his tongue and strokes the tip of it against the underside, where the foreskin meets the head, and Scorpius gasps at the heavenly contact. They’ve barely started and he already feels like he’s teetering on the edge of orgasm. He’s been fantasising about this for so long that Scorpius feels like just the feel of Albus’ warm breath brushing against the twittering nerves of his cock would be enough to push him over.

Scorpius groans, dropping his head back and grasping at anything he can imagine to throttle his arousal and prevent him from making an overeager fool of himself. _Sitting the NEWT exam for Arithmancy,_ he thinks, as Albus encompasses the head of his cock, wrapping his lips around his shaft and sucking. Scorpius grabs ahold of the duvet, his hands fisting the fabric as the nerve-wracking memory does nothing to dull the sensations shooting through his body.

 _Poe singing Christmas carols off-key_ , he tries desperately as his cock pops out of Albus’ mouth and he turns his attention to wet suckling up and down the shaft. Albus’ mouth is replaced with the firm grip of his hand stroking excruciatingly slowly up and down as Albus’ head drops down and sucks one of Scorpius’ balls into his mouth, rolling it around on his tongue before letting it pop free and paying the other one equal attention.

 _Bograsp wearing a red teddy_. Even the image of his curmudgeonly boss in skimpy lingerie isn’t powerful enough to distract him from the feeling of Albus taking his cock back in his mouth and bobbing up and down on it, taking it further and deeper each time, until he can feel the tight compression of his throat every time his head descends.

When Albus rubs his thumb in firm circles around his taint, he has to admit that it’s no use; he doesn’t have any chance at prolonging this. He untangles one of his hands from the duvet and runs it through Albus’ hair, tugging on it. “Al... _fuck_...I-I’m going to come.”

Albus lifts his hand and gently disengages Scorpius’ hand from his hair and locks their fingers together, holding Scorpius’ hand out to the side and against the bed as Scorpius’ nails dig into the back of his hand. He eases back a little, focusing his suction on the leaking head of Scorpius’ cock, probing the slit with his tongue. And then Scorpius is coming, his spunk shooting against the back of Albus’ throat and onto his tongue. It’s not as bitter as he was expecting, and he swallows the load down before winding down his suction. He eases Scorpius through his orgasm, giving his cock soft, little licks as he cleans it off, before withdrawing entirely.

Albus runs his palms over the delicate, protruding hip bones and groin, running his fingers over the untrimmed, pale hair of Scorpius’ pubes. Albus looks up the long line of Scorpius’ chest, which is heaving as he tries to catch his breath. Albus licks his lips, cleaning off the stray dribbles of come and spit that have gathered there, before enjoying a self-satisfied smile at his performance. Despite the awkward start, judging by Scorpius’ reaction, he seems to have improved his skills very quickly.

Albus pushes himself up from the floor and crawls up Scorpius’ lean frame, placing his hands on the bed on either side of Scorpius’ head and leaning over him. Scorpius’ eyes flutter open and he licks his lips and Albus wants to howl in delight at how debauched and gorgeous Scorpius looks in this moment. He settles for dropping down to his forearms and taking Scorpius’ mouth in another kiss, feeding the taste of Scorpius’ come back to him as he feels his own erection rub against the tight confines of his trousers.

They part reluctantly and Albus rolls to the side, the two of them pushing themselves up so that they’re lying more firmly across the middle of the bed. Albus turns on his side to face Scorpius, adjusting himself in his trousers briefly, and then reaches up to push a stray strand of hair off of Scorpius’ forehead. Tranquil grey eyes open to meet him and he’s scared for a moment that it’s going to be awkward, but it isn’t. He knows every fleck of green in those eyes and this feels completely natural; like he’s been sucking Scorpius’ brain out through his cock for years now, and Albus can’t help but laugh a little.

A flicker of uncertainty flashes across Scorpius’ face and he turns his head away, looking up at the ceiling of his bedroom and avoiding Albus’ gaze. “I’m really sorry that I-that it didn’t last longer. I just...that was my first time and I just couldn’t—”

Albus reaches out and places a finger over Scorpius’ lips. Sliding his hand over, he cups Scorpius’ cheek in the palm of his hand and turns his head back to look at him. “Scorpius, was that the first blowjob you’ve ever received?” Scorpius gives a tiny nod, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Fuck me, that is hot.” Albus dives in and takes a surprised Scorpius in another deep-tongued kiss.

Scorpius gives him a shy smile when they part once more. “So you don’t think that’s lame? That I’m a 19-year-old virgin?” he asks nervously.

“It wouldn’t matter to me if you’d had sex with 100 blokes before me, but I find it ridiculously, fucking hot that I get to be your first,” Albus responds huskily.

The uncertainty drains away from Scorpius’ face and he gives Albus an elfish grin. “I haven’t actually said yes, you know.”

Albus smiles widely at him for a moment and then dons a sombre expression. Still cupping Scorpius’ face in his hand, Albus looks intently at him. “Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, would you do me the supreme honour of agreeing to be my boyfriend?”

“It’s traditional to ask for my father’s approval to court me first, you know,” Scorpius teases.

“What kind of a novice do you take me for? I got your father’s approval weeks ago,” Albus grins.

Scorpius draws back, his eyes pinging all around Albus’ face as he tries to tell whether he’s being honest. “Did you really do that?”

Albus shrugs. “I wanted to make sure I did this right.” Scorpius’ face lights up and he pulls Albus down into another kiss. Albus pulls away a fraction, their lips just barely parted but their breaths still intermingled. “You still haven’t actually said yes.”

Scorpius laughs. “Yes, you prat. Yes, I will be your boyfriend. I’m wearing the ring, aren’t I?”

Albus reaches down and lifts Scorpius’ hand up, admiring the simple, elegant design that suits Scorpius perfectly. He raises Scorpius’ hand up to his face and places a kiss on the ring where it sits on his long, slender fingers. “Why did you Disillusion it?”

“I was angry with you,” Scorpius replies simply. “I wanted to make you work for it.”

“You’re worth it, Scorp. You’ll always be worth it to me,” Albus declares.

“Al?”

“Yeah, Scorp?”

“You haven’t come yet.”

Albus’ erection, which had slipped to the back of his awareness while they’ve been chatting, flares at Scorpius’ words and comes roaring back to prominence, demanding his attention. When he manages to reply, his words come out guttural, “No, I haven’t.”

“Do you want to?”

Albus chuckles. “That sounds like a bloody brilliant plan to me!”

Scorpius smiles. “Good, because I really want you to make love to me.”

Albus groans and then he rolls over, spreading his legs over Scorpius’s hips and kissing him again for long minutes. Scorpius’ chilly fingers slip under the cotton material of his shirt and up onto his back and gooseflesh breaks out across his back, but he wouldn’t exchange the feeling for anything. Needing more, he winds down their kiss and sits up, pulling the material up and over his head and tossing it over his shoulder and out of the way. He slides his hands up under Scorpius’ sweater and onto his chest, relieved when Scorpius sits up to let him remove it; he wants no barriers between their skin.

Scorpius wraps his arms behind Albus’ back, holding them close, and then Albus’ left nipple is engulfed in heat as Scorpius takes it in his mouth, sucking on it. It’s just as Albus imagined yesterday, and yet feels nothing alike; the reality of Scorpius laving the tight bud of his nipple is a million times better than anything he could have imagined and he sucks in a gasp as pleasure ricochets around his body. “Use your teeth,” he begs in a breathy moan.

It’s a moment before Scorpius manages to process what Albus has said, lost as he is in the fact that he’s being allowed to hold Albus like this, touch Albus like this, pleasure Albus like this. Carefully, he closes his jaw, clamping the nubbing between his teeth, just close enough so that Albus will feel the sharp pinch. Judging by the groan and the way that Albus’ hands come up to cup Scorpius’ head, holding him to his chest, he enjoys the feeling. Scorpius eases off on the teeth, going back to sucking on the tender skin for a moment before he pulls back and trails kisses across the lightly haired chest to bestow the same treatment on the other nipple.

After several long minutes of this glorious torture, Albus yanks firmly on Scorpius’ hair, pulling him away from his lovingly abused nipples that are pulsing and sending licks of warmth down to his groin. Crashing their lips together, Albus gives him a fierce kiss, capturing Scorpius’ bottom lip between his own teeth as he pulls away. “Merlin, Scorp. I think you could probably make me come from teasing my nipples like that, but I really want to make love to you right now, so let’s agree to experiment with that later, yeah?”

Scorpius feels a swell of self-satisfaction at the obvious effect he’s had on Albus and he starts to think that maybe he might actually be good at this sex stuff and won’t feel awkward and self-conscious constantly like he’d feared he would. He nods and Albus steals another quick kiss before he’s crawling backwards and off the bed. Scorpius is confused for a moment until he sees that Albus is frantically pulling at the fastenings of his trousers and yanking them down along with his pants and socks, pulling them off so that he’s gloriously naked.

Scorpius admires Albus’ body, which is bulkier and broader than his own lean frame, but not overly so. After setting his wand on the duvet beside him, Albus climbs back onto the bed, this time between Scorpius’ legs rather than astride them, and shimmies forward until Scorpius’ legs are spread astride Albus’ thighs. Albus leans over and grabs one of the thick, down pillows that Scorpius prefers and pulls it towards them. “Lift your bum for me, Scorp.”

Setting his feet flat on the duvet, Scorpius pushes his hips up and lets Albus slide the pillow under his arse before settling back down. He feels vulnerable in this position, but Albus seems to sense his unease and runs his hands up and down the outside of Scorpius’ thighs, petting him with warm hands that soothe away his anxiety. “You alright?” Albus asks softly.

Scorpius nods and takes a deep breath before slipping his legs wider, wanting to show Albus that he trusts him—that he feels safe being vulnerable with him. Albus smiles proudly at him. “You’re so beautiful, Scorp.”

Albus doesn’t rush; he kneels there between Scorpius’ spread legs, rubbing his thighs, up and over his hip bones, and across his groin, occasionally bending down to plant soft kisses against the soft skin at the juncture of his leg and torso, just below his belly button, lifting his leg and kissing his inner thigh. Scorpius’ anxiousness melts away and his arousal starts to swell again, his cock filling.

“Please, Al,” Scorpius begs, reaching down to take his renewed cock in his fist and pump it gently. Albus grins and reaches over, feeling around for his wand, not wanting to take his eyes off the sight of Scorpius slowly wanking himself. His fingers close over the smooth wood and he first takes Scorpius’ hand in his and casts, leaving a small dollop of lube in the palm of his hand, easing the way for his wanking. After Scorpius has returned to it, the wet squelching sounds of the lube as he strokes himself are dirty and wicked and Albus’ cock jerks at the knowledge that he’s soon about to bury himself in Scorpius’ body for the first time.

Albus casts a second Lubrification Charm, coating his own palm in the thick, warm liquid. Setting his wand down, he coats his middle finger and then reaches down and circles it around Scorpius’ tight entrance. Scorpius’ eyes flare at the sensation and he slows down the strokes of his hand, focusing on the sensation of someone else touching the sensitive rim of skin for the first time.

Albus doesn’t push in immediately, instead circling his finger around the quivering ring of muscle while Scorpius becomes accustomed to the sensation. When he’s unclenched a bit, Albus curves the last knuckle of the finger, slipping only that short intrusion into the tight hole. Scorpius asks him for more, in a needy voice that enflames his own desire, and he acquiesces, pushing the finger in steadily until it’s swallowed up to the third knuckle.

Albus has had sex with women before, but he’s never experienced anal sex with another person, and though he’s fingered his own arse while having a wank, he’s never _seen_ it before. Scorpius’ arse seems unbelievably tight, clenched around his finger, and he can’t wait to feel the vice-like heat wrapped around his cock. He slides the finger in and out a few times, slowly speeding up until with one firm thrust he crooks the finger up just a bit and strokes the wall of Scorpius’ channel, pulling a startled jerk out of him. _Bingo_ , Albus thinks.

Scorpius groans as Albus strokes his finger in and out a few more times before adding a second, scissoring them apart to stretch him open even more. He doesn’t hit Scorpius’ prostate on every push, leaving him waiting anxiously with each advance to see whether that zing of intense arousal is going to sweep through him this time or not. After several minutes of this luscious torture, Scorpius is thrashing his head back and forth, worrying on his lip, going mad with desire. “Merlin, Al, please. I need _more_ ,” he begs.

Torturously slow, Albus slides his fingers out of Scorpius’ body and withdraws a bit, moving as if he’s about to get up and leave. “Where are you going?” Scorpius rushes out.

“I was just going to grab a condom. I have some in my room,” Albus reassures him, bending down and placing a quick kiss on Scorpius’ bent knee.

“Oh, yeah. I guess-yeah, we should do that, yeah…” Scorpius trails off, eyes darting off to the side and cheeks flushing.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Scorp. It’s okay. You can tell me anything.”

“I’ve just never imagined that,” Scorpius manages to choke out after a few seconds. “I’ve always...um...imagined it...the other way...you know.”

“Scorpius, look at me.” Albus’ voice is deep and authoritative and Scorpius finds his head turning and eyes locking onto burning green before he has even contemplated the request. “Are you asking me to fuck you bare?”

Scorpius wants to purr at Albus’ stark words, and that is what he wants: he wants to feel the raw intimacy of being entered by another person—by Albus— without a barrier between them. He wants to feel _owned_ by him. But Albus is right, they should be responsible. “It’s okay, you’re right. We should be safe and—”

“I want that too, you know,” Albus interrupts his demurring. “I just wanted to make sure that you felt safe and comfortable.” Albus comes back and settles up close, between his legs once more. “I’ve always used condoms before, but just to be safe, I’ve been to St. Mungo’s and been tested and I’m clean.”

“And I’ve never been with anybody,” Scorpius whispers back. He shivers as his words ignite a flare of heat and desire in Albus’ gaze, and he reaches out and strokes Scorpius’ erection once, twice, and then let's go, trailing his slick fingers over and under his balls, down across his taint, and circling his stretched entrance once more.

“All mine,” Albus says, somewhere between a whisper and a groan, and then he’s reaching down and stroking himself, spreading the slick lube all over his shaft. Lining the head of his cock up with Scorpius’ fluttering rim, he pauses and looks up at Scorpius. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Scorpius affirms quietly.

Albus nods, then hooks his arm under one of Scorpius’ knees, lifting the leg and opening him up even more, before leaning forward and applying a firm, insistent pressure against the tight ring of muscle. Finally, Albus’ cock pushes through and Scorpius’ tight arse wraps around the head of his cock, enveloping it in a hot grasp. A part of Albus wants to unleash the tight control he has over his body and rut into that heat like a wild animal, but Scorpius’ hiss of discomfort stops him dead. Gulping, he manages to choke out an inquiry, “Are you alright? Do you want me to pull out?”

Scorpius is holding himself rigid, taking quick, shallow breaths as he acclimatizes himself to the sensation. He’d thought that he was stretched and made ready by Albus’ lengthy fingering, but the thick cock spreading him open is that much bigger, causing a twang of pain on its entrance. But even now, Scorpius can feel the pain diffusing away and, in its place, a suggestion of pleasure. “No, just...give me a minute to get used to it.”

Albus doesn’t say anything, but settles a focused gaze on Scorpius, not moving his body an inch until Scorpius gives him the go-ahead. After a minute or so, Scorpius starts making small, almost infinitesimal movements. Albus can feel the muscles of Scorpius’ leg contracting and relaxing against his forearm, experimenting with short slides on Albus’ cock. Still, he holds himself immobile, letting Scorpius get used to the intrusion into his body, to begin to welcome it. He looks beautiful like this: teeth working his bottom lip, hand stretching down to return to his cock, which had softened at Albus’ entry, but is now firming up as Scorpius’ arousal leaks back in.

Albus isn’t sure how much longer he can hold himself back, but fortunately Scorpius chooses that moment to speak, “Now, Al. Do it now, please.”

Albus looks down and watches the sight of his prick slowly disappearing inside his best friend as he takes him at his word and starts pushing into him. He moves slowly, steadily, until he’s gone as far as he can, his balls resting flush against Scorpius’ arse cheeks. Tearing his eyes away, Al looks up to find Scorpius’ beautiful grey eyes on him, love blazing in them, and he wonders how he ever managed to miss this—what they can be together—for as long as he did.

They watch each other as Albus pulls out, until just the head of his cock is held inside, and then reverses direction and steadily pushes in once more. Albus slowly picks up speed as all hint of discomfort disappears from Scorpius’ face and he begins groaning and begging for “more”. He doesn’t specify more of what, but he doesn’t need to, because Albus feels the same—he wants more of everything. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of Scorpius to satisfy all of his desire for him.

Albus lets go of Scorpius’ leg and leans forward, taking those soft, pink lips in another kiss. Scorpius lifts his legs and wraps them around Albus’ back as he rocks into him, slamming their bodies together each time he bottoms out. “Fuck, Scorp. You feel so fucking amazing,” he manages to grit out, words delivered in a staccato rhythm in time with each vigorous thrust. “Touch yourself. Come for me.”

Albus shifts his hips, sliding into him at a slightly different angle and he strokes across Scorpius’ prostate on each slick slide, sending zings of tingling pleasure shooting through him. Scorpius groans and reaches a hand between them, taking his cock in his hand and stroking it quickly. In no time at all, Scorpius can feel the first shocks start up deep inside of his groin and he groans. Thin jets of come erupt from his cock, painting his pale chest with droplets of the white liquid.

“FUCK!” Albus shouts as Scorpius’ already tight arse clamps down even more firmly on his cock as Scorpius seizes, riding out his orgasm. Two strokes through that impossibly snug channel are all he needs, and then he’s coming, his balls throbbing as they empty themselves deep inside his best friend’s body—his lover’s body.

Albus collapses onto Scorpius, every muscle in his body feeling relaxed and loose, resting his head on Scorpius’ chest. He’s pretty sure he can feel a sticky glob of come under his cheek, but he’s too comfortable to care enough to move. He smiles and turns his head slightly to plant a kiss on Scorpius’ chest when he feels those long fingers come up to run through his hair, softly swirling over his scalp.

Scorpius lies there, utterly replete and content with Albus’ comforting weight atop him. Albus chuckles when Scorpius can’t control the “Oh!” of surprise when Albus’ softening cock slips out of him, his come dribbling out of his arse and slipping down his crack, forming a sticky, wet puddle on the comforter. Scorpius thinks he should probably clean himself up but quickly rejects the idea because it would require Albus to move off of him and he definitely doesn’t want that. Besides, the dirty thought that he kind of likes the feeling of Albus’ come slipping out of him—undeniable proof of what they’ve just done.

Albus’ head shakes as Scorpius’ chest quivers with a suppressed laugh. He lifts his head to look at Scorpius, who is giving him one of the goofy, bright grins that he loves so much. “What, may I ask, is so funny?”

Scorpius loses his battle and laughs, “So I guess we have sex now?”

Albus laughs. He would have never imagined back then, when he pulled Scorpius into that first impromptu hug, that they would one day find themselves naked and wrapped around each other in bed. Albus props himself up onto his forearm and leans over Scorpius, bringing their lips just barely together, teasing. “Not now, but give me 10 minutes or so to recover and then we can talk about it.”

He inhales the sound of Scorpius’ laugh as he takes his mouth in a slow, tender kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used some stock images from PNGTree for the Memornament image. I also used an image that I think was of someone cosplaying Scorbus hugging. It is lovely, but I couldn't find the original source of it. If you know, or if it's yours, please let me know so I can credit you!


	17. Chapter 17

 

 

_December 25, 2026_

 

Scorpius awakes to the wonderful sensation of having his always-chilly limbs wrapped around the radiant heat of Albus’ body. He’s not sure how he manages to do it, but while Scorpius seems to lose all blood flow to his limbs while he’s sleeping, leaving them no better than icicles, Albus’ body is like a furnace, kicking off heat that Scorpius subconsciously seeks out like a missile. For almost a year now, he has woken up nearly every day to find himself snuggled up to Albus’ body, and it’s just one of a million reasons why he’s convinced that they were made for each other.

Albus stirs and nestles back closer to Scorpius, his arse rubbing against the morning erection that is straining the silk fabric of his pyjamas. A low titter of laughter meets his muttered “mmmm” at the sensation and Albus’ hip twerks back again in a very deliberate motion. Scorpius nuzzles his nose up the back of Albus’ neck and into his hair, breathing in the smell of Albus.

Albus reaches up and wraps his hand around Scorpius’ forearm, which is tucked against Albus’ chest, and pulls it down his torso until Scorpius’ hand wraps around Albus’ own morning wood.

“I got you your own pair of silk pyjamas. Why do you never wear them?” Scorpius jokes, leisurely stroking Albus to full hardness.

“I wear them!” he protests as he twists his torso around, taking Scorpius’ mouth in a lazy morning kiss. “I just get too hot when I don’t sleep naked. Besides,” Albus grins wickedly, “One less impediment to deal with.” He grinds his arse back in a clear invitation.

“We don’t have time,” Scorpius groans. “We’re going to have to get up anyti—”

He’s interrupted by a sharp rapping on the door. “Master Malfoy and Mister Potter is be needing to get up now, if you’d please,” the high-pitched squeak of Poe comes from the other side of the door.”

“Thank you, Poe. We’ll be down as soon as we shower,” Scorpius calls back, and a moment later they can hear the patter of his little feet running down the creaky hallway of the Manor.

Albus flops down onto his back and sighs, “I guess you’re right. But before we go downstairs, I have a present for you.” Scorpius gives him a questioning look and Albus smirks. “I think this is a present you’d prefer to open in private.”

Albus darts up and pecks a quick kiss on Scorpius’ lips and then rolls away towards his side of the bed. He bends over and pulls out a cube-shaped box and his wand and they both sit up, settling themselves against the padded headboard of the bed.

“You didn’t even wrap it?” Scorpius mocks.

Albus rolls his eyes. “What, and have us be late for breakfast because you take two hours to unwrap it?”

Scorpius laughs and opens the box, removing a Memornament. “Another memory for the tree!” he exclaims in joy. They had hung each of the twelve ornaments carefully on their tree this year, and Scorpius likes to run his wand over them at random as he walks past, enjoying the brief glimpses of the memories.

Albus laughs, “Sure, we’ll just have to be strategic about where we place this one.”

At Scorpius’ look of confusion, Albus traces his wand down the curved edge of the orb and Scorpius watches as the swirling mist resolves itself into the erotic memory of their first time together. Albus is leaning over him, their bodies jostling as Albus thrusts into Scorpius.

Scorpius can feel his cheeks heating as he takes in the look of gushing love on his face as he looks up into Albus’ face in the memory. He can still remember the overwhelming rush of love he felt as Albus made love to him for the first time and all of Scorpius’ most impossible dreams somehow came true. He can feel Albus watching him, enjoying his reaction to the gift. Once the memory has played through and starts again, Albus strokes his wand down the ornament again and the mist dissolves into randomness again. Scorpius carefully replaces the ornament into the box and sets it on his bedside table.

Turning to Albus, he says, “You know, if we shower together, we can make up some time.”

Albus doesn’t say anything, but simply throws back the covers and clambers over Scorpius and off the bed, pulling Scorpius with him towards the en-suite.

 

★★★

 

Scorpius smiles fondly at Albus as the other man licks each of his fingers, then twists his hand around and sucks on the outside of his palm, where he’s apparently managed to drizzle maple syrup.

“Ugh, it’s like watching pigs at a trough,” his father laments. Looking up, Scorpius watches, amused, as his father stares in revulsion at, first Albus, and then Harry, and then back again.

“Wha?” Harry asks, mouth full of pancake. He flinches a moment later when Draco seems to land a well-placed kick on his shins from where he’s sitting beside him at the table.

Scorpius is almost confident he hears a small, undignified snort come from his grandmother as she hides her face behind a china cup full of tea.

“Now, sweetheart, don’t be too hard on them,” she chides. “It’s clear that the Potter men have worked up quite an appetite since we dined last evening. Hmm...I wonder how they might have done that…” she wonders with a smug smile on her face as both Draco and Scorpius flush.

Scorpius feels Albus’ hand curve around his thigh under the table and he decides that his chagrin is worth it. He doesn’t begrudge Albus a single one of those calories as he remembers their soapy-slidey encounter in the shower and how they put the hand shower attachment to good use.

Scorpius watches as Harry leans into Draco’s space, placing a peck against his shoulder before leaning in and whispering something into his father’s ear. He can’t hear what was said, but judging by the way his father’s rigid posture softens and the fond smile that pulls at his stern expression, he thinks Albus’ dad is probably forgiven for his questionable dining manners.

After they finish their meal, the five of them make their way into the formal sitting room and they all take turns opening the modest pile of gifts under the tree. Scorpius and Draco will be joining their boyfriends at the Burrow this afternoon for a second round of gift opening, so they’ve divvied the gifts between the two locations.

Scorpius picks up the next gift and grins, excited. “This one is for Albus, from me.”

Scorpius takes a seat beside Albus on the couch and watches avidly as he rips off the shiny, green wrapping paper. The subtle scent of leather teases his nose as Albus runs his hand over the cover, a dark grey leather, the word “Us” debossed with green foil in the centre. Albus gives him a small smile and then he turns his attention back to the gift, lifting the cover. “Oh, Scorp…”

Scorpius had finally decided what to do with all of the pages of messages he’d saved from his typed exchanges with his ‘Secret Admirer’. “I had it bound at Flourish & Blotts,” he says, watching as Albus slowly pages through the thin book, not saying anything. He gives Scorpius a strange look when he gets to the water-damaged page from his mishap in the bathtub, and Scorpius smiles at the memory. “Bathtubs and typewriters don’t mix,” he shrugs.

Albus stops as he gets to the final page. Scorpius had removed the page with the final message he had sent his secret admirer from Albus’ typewriter, so he hasn’t read this one before:

I’m really very sorry, but this isn’t going to work. I’m sure you’re a wonderful person, and this has been the most romantic thing that is likely to ever happen to me, but I can’t help how I feel, and I am in love with Albus. I’ve been in love with him since the day I met him on the train to Hogwarts and he’s it for me. I know that I’ll probably never get to be with him, and that’s okay because all I want is for him to be happy. Even if that’s not with me. He’s always going to come first for me, and I don’t think it’s fair to ask anyone else to settle for second place in my heart.

I’m sorry.

Albus closes the book and clutches it against his chest. “This is the best gift I’ve ever been given.”

Scorpius leans forward and plants a soft kiss on Albus’ lips, reaching up and wiping away a tear that has escaped and is trailing down Albus’ cheek with his thumb. “Merry Christmas, love,” he whispers.

“So much for ‘like father, like son.” All you gave me was an espresso machine,” Harry jokes and everyone in the room laughs, with the exception of Draco, who can’t quite suppress a smile.

 

★★★

 


End file.
